Smile in Sorrow
by Karin Daath
Summary: Slight-AU. Steve Rogers is, understandably, a bit depressed after he was just woken up after being frozen only to find it's been years and everyone he knew and loved is gone. Fury figures he should do something, but Steve won't see a shrink so psychologist Rachel will have to perform her assessment on the down-low! Oh the hijinks! Also domestic hostile groups & kidnapping! COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America, the Avengers, or any derivative thereof. I make no monetary gain from this, it's creation is solely for my own entertainment. If others find enjoyment in it as well then my own reward is that perhaps I made someone smile a bit more.

This story is dedicated to Sora Starkiller/Xgirl-49. Happy belated birthday!

Summary: Slight-AU. Steve Rogers has only just woken up after being frozen in ice. It's been years and everyone he knew and loved is gone. Still perhaps he can find meaning and happiness in this new time period, but there are other sinister forces at work since the end of the war.

Smile in Sorrow

By Karin Daath

Chapter 1

The cold did not come creeping in. The impact was sharp and abrupt and then everything was gone. He didn't expect to wake up. He was at peace; with this he had saved the lives of everyone he loved, everyone he could have saved.

He didn't expect the cool room and sunlight that intruded on him so soon after. He couldn't have predicted the simple three-rung fan spinning slowly overhead, or the sound of the old radio announcer coming in from the little construct sitting some short ways away.

"-heads to third, no wait! And here comes the rally we've been waiting for all day-"

He wasn't listening long, but he knew the game. There had been a brief moment when he'd thought perhaps he'd pulled through, that Stark and the others had found him and fished him out of the ice. But he knew this ball game, he recognized it. It was a recording.

Why a recording? For some reason Hydra sprung to mind. Had they survived and he was now captive, and this was a ruse to keep him docile?

The door opened and a young woman entered the room. She wore the standard issue for the day, the kind of clothes Peggy might have worn if she worked in an office setting; a clean pressed white shirt with a black tie and modest skirt. She had long brown hair curled in the current fashion.

"Good morning," she greeted him, friendly in manner and voice. She looked American, and had no trace of a German or other European accent. Even so, she was suspicious. She glancing at the watch on her wrist and she chuckled slightly, "Or should I say afternoon."

Her smile and manner was pleasant, her face and voice were even rather pretty. She was neither plain nor a beauty like Peggy had been, but when she smiled her eyes brightened and became rather striking. Unfortunately Steve was too on edge to appreciate any of her charms.

"Where am I?" Steve asked. He could hear the cars on the street outside and the bustle of the city, but he was already noticing more was wrong with this place than just the radio recording. Strands of her hair pulled back from the coifed curls like they weren't used to the style. She didn't normally wear her hair like that. If there were cars so nearby, why was the smell of diesel so faint? Why was the plug to the radio so small now? Why was she only wearing one earring?

If this was America at all where were Peggy and Stark? Why weren't they here instead of this strange woman?

"In a recovery room in New York city." She told him pleasantly. He couldn't believe that. If this was a usual room why under the paint could he see screw marks like the walls were partially made of metal in places?

"Where am I really?" he questioned again. She seemed surprised and smiled again, confused; although that was a lie too. He only prayed this place had no affiliation with Hydra.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," she admitted, sheepish, willing him to explain.

"The game," Steve explained, "It's from May 1941, I know 'cause I was there."

She seemed startled but recovered quickly with a sigh and smiled again. Faltering only when he climbed to his feet and fixed her with a frigid stare. "Now I'm going to ask you again," he stated as calmly as he could, "Where am I?"

She took a step back and put her hands up to placate him. "Captain Rogers-"

"Who are you?"

"Steve, calm down!" she told him firmly, speaking quickly, "Just stay calm and I'll explain!" she said this last bit softer, placating. He didn't move, waiting.

"We thought it would be best to break things to you slowly, we though this room the atmosphere and the recording would make you more comfortable, that's all." She explained. But this ultimately told him nothing. "This really is New York city, and you really are in a recovery room, but a lot of things have changed since you were frozen. It's been nearly 70 years since the war ended."

She was still talking, but there was another sound he was picking up now. Coming from her; a sound like a man over an intercom. "-Schmidt? Schmidt? Your BP's skyrocketed, what's going on?-"

Schmidt?!

In that moment Steve realized two things. One was that the woman's earring was in fact some kind of radio communication piece. Second was that he had indeed been captured by Hydra. His initial impression had been right.

"Johann..." he acknowledged, equal parts dread and determination steeling him for what he knew he had to do next. Escape.

The woman raised her hands again attempting to dissuade him, apparently shocked he'd heard the communicator; "No!" she insisted, panicked, "You don't understand! This isn't-!"

"Out of the way," he told her, advancing quickly. To her credit the Hydra agent didn't bother trying to block his way and quickly moved to the side as Steve made for the door.

"I'm sorry, I tried to talk to him but-!"

The woman was speaking to the mouth piece. At the door Steve found a group of agents geared up outside. At least they didn't carry firearms; when they saw him they attempted to detain him with stunners and batons, neither of which posed a threat to the enhanced super soldier.

"-someone get Nick Fury down here!-"

"-He's been notified! He's on his way!-"

Steve plowed through the men as he made to turn down the hallway. Unfortunately there were men streaming in from both ends of the hall. He had no idea what was on the other side of the walls here, but it would be a better route to escape than to face the horde of Hydra's agents.

"Captain Rogers, wait!"

With a heavy charge, he broke through the wall. Stone and plaster, thankfully there was no metal plating on the mid-sections of the wall. It was fortunate there was another hall on the other side. The people passing all looked up in surprised, it looked like a kind of lobby area ahead a ways. People were dressed strangely and the whole building in layout and design was strange.

Doors were recognizable and without the soldiers on his tail, Steve took off like a shot through those open glass doors running out to the street. Again the people were different, even the cars were different. It was still daylight but there were bright and colored lights everywhere and strung up. He kept running, looking for anything familiar.

He realized immediately that this wasn't Germany. The signs and shops were all in English and everyone was talking with an American accent. Eventually the roads opened to a wide and broad thoroughfare of people, traffic, and lights.

It was different. The buildings, people and shops were all different in appearance, smell and even in some cases it seemed sections of the city and buildings had been remodeled or rebuilt. But this really was New York. This was Times Square, and now very different from how he remembered it. For a moment he couldn't make heads or tails of what he was seeing. It was like walking into an alternate reality.

Something loud and large, flying overhead, threw the wind up all over the street. Steve turned to see a chopper descending on the square. It was smaller and looked more maneuverable than the ones Stark had used. It landed close by as people and vehicles cleared out of its way. More of the agents from before were here now, clearing the civilians and forming a perimeter.

It was strange, but apparently he had jumped to conclusions when he'd thought of Hydra. Schmidt was a common enough German name. Doctor Erskine was German and he'd been working for their side. The man exiting the helicopter had swarthy skin and while he had a dark beard his head was bald. He wore an eye-patch over one eye.

He seemed like a military man, to Steve. He had that hard and weathered look to him as he approached. "At ease, soldier!" the man told him, even his voice that familiar abrasive tone Steve remembered from the American armed forces, "Look, I'm sorry about that little show back there, but we thought it best to break it to you slowly."

Steve swallowed back the anxiety, he'd wanted to dismiss what he'd been told before as Hydra lies, but the sight of a changed New York forced him to accept certain truths in what had been said. "Break what?" he asked.

"You've been asleep, Cap," the man told him, "For almost 70 years."

Again Steve looked past the man at the modified helicopter, the changes to the buildings, the lights, the way people dressed, the odd contraptions attached to their ears, the small thin black and colored boxes they spoke into as they hurried down the crowded streets. New York hadn't changed in many ways, the people and bustle and even Times Square to an extent. Still it was all nearly unrecognizable. He'd run down several streets before he finally recognized the landmarks and knew where he was.

"You gonna be okay?" The man asked him, drawing Steve's attention back to where he was; the future, the undeniable and alien present.

"Yeah," Steve said quickly, still shaken as he considered the number, 70 years... so that was why Peggy and Stark weren't... "Yeah, I'm okay, it's just..."

He turned once more looking around and again he thought of Peggy and the last words he'd spoken to her. It felt like moments ago he heard her soft plea over the intercom. Their last words to each other.

She told him not to be late, her voice was shaking; he could still hear it as if she were somehow still so very close. But she wasn't. He wasn't going to see her again, not as he knew her; she and everyone he knew and cared for was gone. "I had a date."

His entire world was gone.

xxXXxxXXxx

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Rachel Schmidt?"

"Yes, sir."

"Come in," Nick motioned her forward to the desk at the center of the room. Rachel had come in before he had, the director of SHIELD, Nick Fury, was a busy man. While she wasn't sure why she had been called to speak with him, she had already guessed it had to do with the rude awakening of Steve Rogers, Captain America.

"Let's cut to the chase, Rachel," Fury said slapping the files down on the table without preamble, "Can I call you, Rachel?" he didn't wait for a response before continuing as he pushed the top file towards her across the short table. "I want you to do a evaluation for Captain America and, if you need to, help him with any issues he may experiencing since he was unfrozen."

The brunette woman looked at the file that was handed to her and the classification level printed on the outside. "Sir?" she said puzzled, looking up sharply, "This indicates a level 4 security clearance, I only reached level 2 a few weeks ago."

It wasn't unusual for SHIELD to run these sorts of things by their civilian contractors as part of a test to see if they would access information they did not have clearance for if given the opportunity. Rachel had made it a point not to go against any regulation since she'd been here. She liked her job at SHIELD and wasn't about to compromise it.

"You've been cleared for level 4 security as of today," Fury told her pulling a badge from the second folder that he also pushed towards her. It was the completed paperwork for her new security clearance level as well as her new badge and secure pass card.

Everything seemed to be in order as far as SHIELD's protocol, it was just a bit mystifying that this was brought up without preamble. She looked back at Director Fury with some confusion. "What?" he inquired, nearly deadpan, "I trust you."

If she hadn't known Nicholas Fury to err more on the side of caution and near paranoia she might have pressed that statement. As it was the subtle light in his eyes seemed to indicate that he had already cleared her based on other select criteria already considered.

She trusted his judgement and she was more than capable of handling even the Captain's psychological issues. If she could handle SHIELD's arctic team that uncovered the ancient god/tentacle beast near the polar ice cap then she could handle any kind of post-traumatic stress or anachronistic survivors guilt that could be set before her.

"I can see him first thing this week," Rachel accepted the assignment, "Should I contact him for an appointment or will Maria Hill be handling the arrangements?"

Nick shook his head at her, "No, there won't be an appointment."

Again she was confused, her brow creased and the man grinned amused. "He won't see a psychologist."

She frowned, "Then how am I supposed to make an assessment? He knows this is part of regular military protocol to be cleared for duty, doesn't he?"

"Seems they mainly had physical evaluators back then," Nick told her, "This PTSD business hasn't even come up except in the past few decades, your field is actually relatively new all things considered."

Rachel pursed her lips as she thought about it. The 1940's hadn't exactly been an era of understanding toward mental health, come to think of it, more than likely Steve Rogers still shared that ancient mentality that healthy and sane people simple didn't need a shrink for anything. Nick nodded as he saw the realization dawn in her eyes.

Steve Rogers would never submit to a psychological evaluation because of what he thought it might mean about him if he did. "Surely you explained it to him, though," Rachel wondered, "He's accepted most of what you've told him so far, I think he'd understand."

"Well, he says he does," Nick nodded, though his tone seemed to imply the opposite, "But he said 'all the same I'd rather not'."

"You could have pressed the issue."

"Considering what that man has been through, there is very little I'm inclined to 'press him' on," Nick said coolly. Rachel frowned but nodded, understanding.

"Then how do you suggest I evaluate him?" she wondered.

"Talk to him."

She sighed thinking back to the last time she'd seen the man. He was surprisingly fit and active considering he'd been thawed out of the ice merely a few hours earlier. But his eyes had turned so cold when he'd heard her name over the comm-link.

It was surprising when he'd questioned her so openly. She hadn't been sure what to expect and she hadn't lied to him. When he'd discovered the radio broadcast was a recording it was natural to be suspicious. She suspected whoever had picked that recording had probably lost their job; they clearly hadn't done their homework.

Even when he'd stood to his full height, and he was intimidating with a good foot over her in height, she hadn't truly been afraid. Anxious sure, but he was a hero, no matter what she didn't honestly believe he was going to hurt her. She'd tried to explain to him. For a few moments when he'd paused she'd thought she'd been getting through to him.

She knew he had advanced strength among other enhances senses, she hadn't thought hearing had been one of them. But he'd heard her name over her ear piece. Then he'd shut down on her completely. Nothing she said got through then. She didn't doubt she was one of the last people Steve Rogers thought about seriously talking to; let alone without a reason to answer truthfully.

"Sir, I don't think I'm the best person for this particular assignment," she admitted. As much as she felt capable in her capacity to perform the job, this was something else. Striking up conversation outside of an official capacity with a man she'd really only had a very negative interaction with was likely an accident waiting to happen.

"Why not?" the director demanded.

"Sir, I was there when he first woke up, you've probably seen the tapes at this point," she told him simply, " 'Schmidt' is a very common name, but the Captain appears to still have strong ties to associating it to his old enemy, Johann Schmidt."

"At least your name isn't 'Zola'."

The director appeared to be making a joke. She smiled slightly. Zola wasn't a very common name of course, but Schmidt was as common as Smith; her family had emigrated from Germany well before WWII and her family was already fifth generation American, she was the sixth generation in her family.

"I don't think he'll forget the debacle when he escaped SHIELD's Manhattan subdivision." she pointed out, "I think it's unlikely that he'll accept me in an unofficial capacity."

"No," Fury disagreed, "It's precisely because you were there, that you are ideal."

He was grinning now, looking rather pleased with himself. "Sir?" she prodded, willing him to explain again. His statement made no sense, why would someone he had viewed negatively suddenly be positive now?

"Because he'll feel guilty," Fury told her, grinning still as though he divulged some great and hilarious secret, "You may have noticed he's a bit of a boy scout. He won't turn you away if you want to talk to him. Because he judged you wrongly before, he knows that now, and he'll feel too guilty to refuse if you want to talk to him, 'clear the air', whatever it is."

"Ah." Rachel nodded looking back at the files the director had handed her. That had been in the initial briefing she'd received as well. Steve Rogers, Captain America, would always do his best to do the right thing. He was essentially a good person. Her job was to use that against him. Evaluate him without his knowledge, and potentially help and treat him again without his knowledge or consent.

"So?" Nick prodded her this time, "Think you can handle it?"

She took a deep breath, accepting the files; steadying herself for the job ahead of her. At the least, SHIELD certainly never ran out of interesting and nearly impossible jobs to give her.

"Yes, sir, I absolutely can."

xxXXxxXXxx

It was early morning. The sun wasn't quite up. The air was still cool and each footstep pounded against the pavement of Central Park. Steve was out running. Something he liked to do every morning, at least 70 years ago he had; it almost felt like there had been no interim to his daily routine.

In certain moments everything that had happened; everything he had missed seemed to slip away and he was left with blissful quiet peace of mind. When he ran, at least he didn't have to think too much except about his breathing, keeping his pace steady, and his own fluid movements.

Still it was impossible to block out the world. Even Central Park had changed over 70 years. Perhaps less than the surrounding streets and buildings but still noticeably so. The other joggers were also a change in their neon colors and light-up tennis shoes.

The Manhattan division of SHIELD did offer a gym of sorts; all electrical equipment lined up in an assembly line that seemed like a mockery of the dirt tracks he had used. There was an old little-used boxing ring in the basement that Nick Fury had said he could use. If he was working during the day, he'd often find himself there instead.

He supposed it was better to be outside though; at least in the mornings. One way or another he had to get used to the ways the world had changed. He rounded the last bend and exited the park heading down the avenue toward New York city's SHIELD headquarters.

He had to get used to it. He knew that. But this world, this modern era, very nearly seemed like an alien mockery of the world that one was his. That world, the past he was told over and over, was the one he knew. There were the people he knew and loved, his friends, his family, his...

He refused to think about her. Sometimes it still hurt to breathe when he thought about her. Nick Fury had been kind enough to provide him with case files about his old friends and colleagues from 70 years ago. Most of them were still in the box at his new apartment, untouched.

Howard Stark and Peggy Carter were among those files. He hadn't touched those yet, he hadn't gone through any of them too much. He wouldn't admit it but he was afraid of what he might find. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. They were gone... he knew that much... so he tried not to think about it.

Everything had been replaced. The world, the buildings, the people, everything and in its stead were all things alien and strange. Most days he wasn't sure how to deal with it. Most days he couldn't. So he ran in the early morning and then retired to the basement.

He tried to focused on the things that hadn't changed. The little sidewalk cafes, the old brick buildings... that were now mostly condemned. His pace slowed as he reached the building used by SHIELD; his heart-rate was still high. It had nothing to do with his run.

He'd survive. He'd survived World War II, he'd survived Red Skull and the tesseract. He'd survived the frozen ice. He'd survive this as well.

Steve had only just made it to the lobby elevators, stepping aside for the young woman inside, when his usual morning was interrupted. "Good morning, Steve."

He had to look up at the woman in surprise. She was smiling pleasantly, her face was somewhat pretty, her long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. He didn't recognize her. "Good morning." he returned amiably and her smile faltered a little.

"You don't remember me, do you?" she wondered, now a little embarrassed that she'd called out to him. He looked at her again, she was wearing a gray suit jacket and skirt this time but...

She did seem a bit familiar. "Um... you were... from when I woke up, right?"

"Yes," she said relieved, "We were never properly introduced, I'm Rachel." she offered her hand in greeting.

"Schmidt, I remember," He said as he shook it. Her hand was a little small but warm,"I'm Steve, but you already know that."

"Yes," she sighed as she looked a little uneasy, probably remembering their first meeting, "I'm not sure if it came up before, but I'm not related to any of the Germans involved in the war. Schmidt is an incredibly common name, and my family emigrated to New York ages ago, I'm already sixth generation American, and-"

"Yes, I did eventually figure that out," Steve assured her quickly. Despite the trouble he'd had with Schmidt, Zola, and Hydra, nothing had come up with any of that in over 70 years apparently. Anything that bore resemblance to it now was likely coincidence unless proven otherwise. "The doctor responsible for the serum that modified me was also German. He was a good man, I don't judge people on their names or history, only what they do."

She smiled, grateful, any tension from before vanishing. "I read the brief. Dr. Erskine was a brilliant man."

Steve nodded. "And a friend."

Her smile altered slightly, something not unlike pity, but then it was gone. "Anyway, I'm so sorry about all that mess before. We really thought it might make things easier on you, that's all."

"I know, that was explained too," he agreed, "Don't worry about it."

He nodded to her, smiling amiably he stepped around her. He didn't mean to detain her and he wasn't that interested in being apologized to all day. He pushed the button to call the elevator back.

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

He turned back to her surprised. "They make a pretty good blend at the canteen," she explained, it was on the tip of his tongue to thank her and refuse, "I just feel so bad about how we started off. I want to make it up to you."

Steve sighed a little. "You don't have to do that," he assured her, "It's not necessary, and everything is fine. It was all explained."

"I won't take up much of your time," she added quickly, "Maybe we could just talk a bit?" The elevator had almost arrived, just a few more floors; but looking back at her she seemed sincere.

She really wanted him to accept. He felt more inclined to withdraw. That was probably an impulse he should ignore; but it also wouldn't take long he reasoned. She'd probably feel better after he'd assured her he was fine with everything.

His self-imposed isolation wasn't healthy; something he'd been told so often he was sick of it. He didn't want to offend her, and she seemed to sincerely want to do something nice even though he'd said she didn't need to. The elevator made a soft ringing noise as it reached their floor and opened.

But she was still looking at him with bright eyes and a hopeful smile. He sighed again and turned away from the open elevator promising the sanctuary of the abandoned basement boxing ring. "Sure," he agreed.

If he'd thought her expression bright before, she was actually glowing as she fell into step with him and they headed toward the canteen, or building cafeteria. It occurred to him dully that he didn't really like coffee at all. He never had. Still he found himself smiling back at the woman beside him. Her smile was infectious like that.

ooOOooOOoo

Author notes:

This is really just a different take on the ending scene of the first Captain America movie. More story-line and 'plot' to come, I hope. Any thoughts or constructive criticism are appreciated.

Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America, the Avengers, or any derivative thereof. I make no monetary gain from this, its creation is solely for my own entertainment. If others find enjoyment in it as well then my own reward is that perhaps I made someone smile a bit more.

This story is dedicated to Sora Starkiller/Xgirl-49. Happy belated birthday!

Summary: Slight-AU. Steve Rogers has only just woken up after being frozen in ice. It's been years and everyone he knew and loved is gone. Still perhaps he can find meaning and happiness in this new time period, but there are other sinister forces at work since the end of the war.

Smile in Sorrow

By Karin Daath

Chapter 2

"Why don't you tell me about him?"

The canteen was bright and open. It had an airy feeling that didn't make it seem like a cafeteria at all. Steve was used to the remembered walls of painted beige and the line against a far wall where the food was. Rows of tables and benches lined up in neat straights all the way across; that was what he knew of cafeterias. He never ate here before; it was too alien and it still was.

The windows were wide and large and showed out to the streets and neighboring buildings. In the distance you could see Central Park just a bit between the edges of the other tall business buildings. The canteen itself had a central circular food distribution area, this area had drinks and salads and soups and cold sandwiches.

The far wall had different stations that served grilled and roasted foods. The tables were smaller and square-shaped turned diagonally against the walls, and each had several chairs; the whole setup of the room seemed to be arranged in a random way.

"Steve?"

He didn't really feel comfortable here. But focusing on Rachel, still watching him expectant, made it easier to block out the rest. At least they chose a spot near the corner which was relatively closed off from the rest of the area, others preferred to sit by the massive windows.

"Who?" he asked, trying to remember the thread of the conversation.

"Dr. Erskine, you said he was a friend," she prompted curious, "I know from the files you worked closely with him. I don't know much, other than from his publicized work and his genius. What was he like?"

"Well he was the scientist, I was just a kid from Brooklyn," Steve shrugged. Erskine wasn't so difficult to talk about. He'd lost him a long time ago; the wound was old and mostly healed before all this. The man was almost a second father to him. "I really only saw him when he came to check-in during basic training. He was a good man though, and he took the time to talk to us. I probably wasn't the only one he talked to when he came to visit; we were all there because of the program. He was a friend when you needed one, sometimes forgetful, and sometimes knew exactly what you needed to hear to make things work."

"Sounds like you miss him." She noted. Steve only smiled, offering a half-shrug. The pain of that loss had dulled with the years; it was one he had accepted since then. "You had other friends then, too. It must have been something to have worked with the father of Stark Industries and so much of our modern technology."

Howard. Peggy… again Steve just offered a noncommittal shrug. "They were all great people. I'm sure they're missed by more than me." He didn't offer anything more on that subject. He preferred not to think about any of that at all. He took a drink of the coffee, more for something to do. It was strong and slightly bitter. To his credit, he didn't gag on it like the first time he'd had the stuff.

"You want to talk about them?"

He wasn't sure he liked the gently tug of her suggestion. But when he looked up at least her eyes didn't seem to radiate pity. She honestly seemed interested. Curiosity was just as bad though. He didn't want to talk about it.

"No, not really." He admitted.

"It might help?" she suggested. He didn't respond, just shaking his head. He took another drink of the coffee. The bitter taste seemed to match his thoughts on this subject. She shrugged, seeming to relent, taking up her own cup. "Have you looked at any of the old file? Some of them may still be around?"

"Not yet." He hedged. "I haven't had the time."

She arched an eyebrow at that. "Busy catching up on current events?"

"Some." He said, noncommittal. To be honest he hadn't spent too much time at all reading on current events of history, his friend from the past, or much of anything. Everything still felt gray and empty and he wondered if there was a point. He didn't belong here, he doubted he ever would.

"You don't really like coffee do you?"

He looked up at her startled, she smiled sheepishly as she glanced at his cup and back to him. "You've been making a sour face every time you take a drink," she told him. Steve sighed and set the cup down, away from his hand. "Don't force yourself. If you prefer tea or hot chocolate they have that here too."

"It's fine, really," he told her, rather embarrassed that his dour thoughts must have shown so openly on his face, "I was never a big coffee drinker, but it's not bad, really." He was lying. He didn't really like the taste.

"Let me get you something else," she said swiftly getting to her feet, taking his cup with her. He tried to stop her, he meant to say 'no, you really don't need to,' or 'it's not necessary, it's fine'. But she was already sweeping across the short distance to the central bar and drink area to order something else.

The canteen wasn't terribly populated yet and she was already talking to the girl at the coffee bar. He slumped in his seat and gave up. It would probably have been rude if he'd just gotten up and left. He thought about a potential excuse to get away; but before he could find something suitable she had returned with another cup of hot liquid.

"Try this," she suggested setting it before him. She hadn't taken her seat yet, apparently waiting for him to try it. Steve suspected suddenly that if he made a sour face again she'd just go back and try to get another one for him. He resolved to tell her 'it's good' no matter how bad the taste.

As it turned out he didn't have to force himself. It wasn't coffee, not quite. If it was, there was something decidedly different about it. It wasn't bitter but not terribly sweet either. There was something vaguely minty in the aftertaste that reminded him of the street cafes and after-dinner parlors back when he and Bucky used to go out on the town.

"What is it?" he asked her, surprised. It was strangely familiar, although he was sure he'd never had something like it.

She just grinned brightly, "It's chicory," she told him taking a seat, "I had them add a bit of chocolate to taste." So that was why it was familiar, he recognized the scent at least and the name. He'd never tried it before, no wonder Erskine liked it.

"How'd you know?"

"It's the way my grandfather liked it." She shrugged looking a bit sheepish as she retook her seat across from him. "So what do you do during the day?"

Another loaded question. He'd almost hoped they'd moved away from this kind of topic. "Why don't you tell me about your grandfather? He apparently had excellent taste."

She looked surprised that he'd asked a question of his own but smiled and shrugged it off. "He did. He had great taste in cars, alcohol, the stock market… part of the reason my dad was able to go to college. My grandfather never did, but he was a clever guy," she smiled as she spoke. She was very pretty when she smiled, her eyes brightened and her features became more animated. "He never lost that edge, not until the end anyway."

It must have been some time ago. The pain was there, but dulled by time. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She told him. "It's what happens. It was a long time ago."

xxXXxxXXxx

'A long time ago,' and that was the crux of the matter. Most people got to deal with sudden loss over some period of time. For everyone besides Steve, time had passed. For him it may as well have been yesterday that everything was different, he never got a chance to deal with that loss.

Rachel knew he'd been avoiding her questions since the start, deflecting, evading, and eventually trying to turn the question around. It was true about her grandfather but so far her evaluation had yielded nothing other than a bunch of sore subjects.

These same subjects she expected would be sore, which was part of the reason she's started him talking about Erskine. He seemed capable enough about talking about that, but when she'd asked about the others he'd closed up again.

"You know, I'm actually around quite a bit, but I never see you in here during lunch of anything." She brought up casually. "Where do you eat lunch?"

Fury had already told her he tended to skip meals.

"I just generally eat alone is all," he said, shying away from the subject.

"Is it the food?" she asked leaning forward, her tone almost conspiratorial. "They can cook meals to order, it's not all toxic waste."

He gave her an odd look and she remembered he wouldn't understand the reference. She shook her head. "I'm just saying, they do have pretty good food for a work cafeteria," she told him. "I doubt you've ever been introduced to teriyaki chicken, the chef makes it very good here."

He frowned and nodded slightly, although he hadn't said anything to confirm. He took another drink; although she'd figured out by now, he did that only when he didn't want to respond. She hadn't really had high expectations for this initial encounter. She could already assess from his responses and behavioral information supplied by Fury that he was closing himself off.

It was obvious from the moment they entered the canteen that he was uncomfortable with everything from the layout to the food. He was withdrawing from what was unfamiliar and strange, it wasn't unusual. He had displayed no other signs of coping, so his method to protect himself was to shut himself off from it as much as possible.

He had actually visibly relaxed a little when she'd returned with the cup of chicory. Really, SHIELD was amazing in its supply of different foods, but then with such a diverse array of personnel of race, geography, and age, it was a real blessing to have that kind of selection.

When she had returned to the previous question Steve deflected again by asking his own question. She didn't deny him an answer, but that question was the one she was most interested in his response to. "So what do you do during the day?" she rephrased the previous inquiry, "I spend most of my day in an office. Does Fury have you working on anything?"

She had only meant to elaborate on herself and offer him a reasonable out if he wanted to avoid answering truthfully. The brief shock, and the lost look that crossed his face, was unexpected. Then he steeled himself, shuttering his expression again. But at least he responded this time. "Not really, I'm uh… still catching up on things." He gave a half-truth.

He didn't lie; and after a moment she realized he wouldn't, it didn't fit with his character. But he wasn't telling the whole truth, either. He knew isolating himself was a bad thing, but he was doing it anyway. It was interesting, more so than the verbal response was what she'd seen in his face. It was a look she recognized in war victims, most often amputees; but she wasn't about to leap to conclusions.

"Understandable, it's a lot to take in, I guess," she said with sympathy. He finished the chicory and sat back, she saw the shift in his legs as he prepared to stand.

"It is," he agreed simply as he rose to his feet, taking the empty cup with him. "Thanks for the drink; it was nice talking with you, Rachel."

For some reason she was surprised when he said her name. But then he wouldn't call her 'doctor,' since she had approached him informally. She stood hastily before he got too far away. "Steve!" she called out; he paused and looked back. She took her own cup as she went after him, "I'm sorry, about the coffee, and if I upset you again. I was just… making conversation, or trying I guess."

He smiled with a short laugh, dismissing it, "It's fine, it's not you, and you didn't upset me," He told her calmly.

"I just want you to know if you have… questions or if you want to talk about anything, whether it's about the gym or places to eat, or whatever, I'd be happy to talk." She offered.

"It's not necessary-"

"I want to," Rachel insisted, cutting him off. He had to know she wasn't saying this out of obligation, even if he'd only talk to her because of that she wanted him to know she honestly wanted his friendship. He looked skeptical and she smiled again. "You haven't talked to many people yet, I don't know if you're just shy or," she didn't finish that thought.

"I know things are different. It is a lot to take in. But don't shut it out. Like it or not, you're here and now; you need to get used to it." The words were cold, she was trying to be kind. His jaw tightened but at least he seemed to be listening to her. "One of the best ways to do that is to get out and talk with people."

"I know."

When he pulled away again, she let him go. He was probably headed down to the old abandoned basement area. There was an old boxing ring and equipment down there. Fury said he spent most of his time down there; like he was hiding from the world. His assessment wasn't wrong, she got a similar impression.

He was uncomfortable and apparently trying to ignore or not think about his loss and the changes in the world. He wasn't coping, he was just blocking it out. There was the reaction he had before to consider too. He may be denying the world to himself, but there was nothing to force him out into it either. She wasn't sure 'a friend' was the strongest motivation for that, Fury seemed to think so, but she disagreed.

xxXXxxXXxx

His fists struck hard and solid against the sandbag. Each strike a practiced series of strokes, controlled strength and movement, fluid and familiar. He tried to think about his breathing, about the next series of hits, anything but what his thoughts had been straying towards.

It wasn't her fault; anyone could have asked those questions. He doubted she knew how prying and prickling they had been; like a knife jammed into fresh wounds. Rachel couldn't know how raw those wounds were and how she twisted the knife and tore at him.

It wasn't anyone's fault. He had no one to blame. But inevitably his thoughts always turned back toward 'the past'. It wasn't just Howard and Peggy and the promise of a natural life; there he had purpose and meaning, there was a reason he was there, he was grounded, he stood on solid ground and he had friends who were there to stand by him. He wasn't alone, he wasn't obsolete and now…

The sandbag burst apart at the seams as he struck outward, a little too hard, his movements increasingly uncontrolled as his thoughts grew darker and more erratic. He sighed and reigned himself in, taking deeper breaths to calm himself as he disconnected the sandbag and went to replace it with a new one.

He'd already burst several of them. Fury had the foresight to supply the previously abandoned room with plenty of replacement equipment for the ones Steve had been periodically breaking in the past few weeks. He hung up the new bag and stepped back a moment, still trying to reign back his thoughts.

He was unsuccessful. He should have died in the ice. But they brought him back, and for what? He had no friends. He had no purpose; he shouldn't even be here. He was obsolete and he didn't belong. There was nothing for him anymore. Everything was strange and probably always would be. He didn't believe in suicide, despite past actions he'd only done what he thought was right. What was best for everyone, what protected the people he loved. Now there was nothing.

The metal creaking squeal of the basement doorway startled him from his reverie. Fury rarely visited him down here, but when he looked up to the intruder he was surprised to find Rachel peering around the metal door, squinting in the dim old lights until she saw him.

She actually looked vaguely surprised when she saw him but smiled and stepped inside, the heavy door clanging shut behind her. "Hey, you're a difficult guy to find," she was saying, friendly smile in place as she stepped forward.

His shoulders slumped as he prepared for another verbal assault. He'd actually changed his jogging times in the morning so that he wouldn't run into her like last time. It seemed like he'd succeeded for a while and hadn't seen her in at least a week.

She looked around the room and at the boxing ring, she stopped on the outside of the ring and looked back at him, still smiling. "I never would have guessed they had all this down here, kind of amazing, isn't it?"

"You were looking for me?" he asked, trying not to let any of his dismay seep into his voice.

"I hadn't seen you around, I thought we were going to do lunch one of these days," she admitted, although some of his chagrin must have shown through as she shied away a little, "Um… unless you really didn't want to?"

He glanced at the clock, it was around the usual lunch hour. He didn't want to go with her. "I was going to eat later," he hedged, "Maybe a couple more hours."

He turned back toward the sandbag, shifting it a little as though adjusting its placement. He meant to dismiss her, but she hadn't left yet. "Have you been avoiding me?"

Steve started at the question and turned back to Rachel slowly. He'd heard hurt in her voice and looking back, her expression seemed genuinely distressed. "I didn't mean to ask you weird things last time, or say something that made you uncomfortable," she offered.

He raised his hand to stop her, "You didn't." he told her, "It wasn't you." He said, not having the will to lie outright and tell her he hadn't been avoiding her when he had actually taken some pains to change his morning routine just so he would avoid her.

"You don't normally eat lunch, do you?"

Once again, she hit the nail on the head. Steve frowned and her troubled look intensified; he didn't contradict her and he could guess her next request. He also knew, with just as much chagrin, that he couldn't refuse her when he'd so obviously slighted her already.

"Look, come eat something, it's not good to stay down here."

He already knew that, but he preferred it to the alien reality outside this room.

"Please?"

He sighed and started removing the bandage wraps from his hands. She looked vaguely relieved as his actions showed his acceptance. He didn't look at her, focusing on his task as he tried to steel himself for the next assault of questions she was sure to have.

To his surprise after they went through the line to get their food, she walked them out of the canteen and down toward the south end of the building. In this area there were several conference rooms and a central area with grass and shrubs and a few flower beds. It wasn't very large and there was another group of office workers who were finishing up their lunches and vacating the patio seating area.

Oddly enough, as they took their seats, it was strangely more comfortable than the open area at the canteen. "Is this okay?" she asked when they sat down. It wasn't a cafeteria, but a garden was a garden, it was actually kind of nice in a way.

"Yeah, it's good." He agreed as they sat to eat their food. The food she'd forced off on him was unfamiliar but it wasn't bad, he knew chicken and the sauce and manner of cooking was a little different, but palatable.

"How's the food?" she asked after a while, she was smiling though, and Steve had eaten more than half already. He just nodded, chewing first before speaking.

"It's different," he told her, and when her expression nearly fell, he added, "but good."

She seemed relieved when she smiled again, "Just because it's different doesn't mean it's always bad then."

Steve had to think about that. He looked back at her wondering if she'd meant it the way he thought she did. She'd told him the last time that he needed to get out and talk to people; was this 'try new things' and 'just because it's different' business her attempt to get him to open up more. Probably.

He didn't really understand why she was trying so hard. Did she feel that bad about their first meeting? Like his inability to accept the current state of things was her fault? He hoped that wasn't the case but he couldn't think of another reason for her actions.

"You're right about that." He offered, and her smile brightened a little. This time their meeting didn't end with his thoughts turning back towards what he'd rather ignore. He even agreed to see her for lunch tomorrow. It wasn't exactly an odd thing in this era apparently, the way men and women interacted, eating together and talking wasn't necessarily an indication of interest.

She was always friendly when they met, and she was ecstatic the one time that Steve came to meet her instead of her having to collect him from the basement. Rachel was actually kind of nice, and something about her was calming when she wasn't asking prying questions; and to be fair she probably hadn't known quite how much that had dug a sharp edge into him. She still apologized about the time before.

"You don't need to apologize," he told her eventually, "It's because the answers aren't there. I have been avoiding people, you, the world. It's not easy to accept and sometimes I wonder if I have a place in it." he didn't even think about it when he gave her his reasons. He felt he could trust her with it, and the way she nodded and accepted it told him he'd been right. Even if she couldn't empathize, she understood and she'd never asked him about it after that.

"You do, you know," she told him as they parted. "You do have a place here. Or by that logic, everyone who's displaced for any reason has nothing; and that's not true."

"How do you figure?"

"Dr. Erskine," she said, startling him for a moment, "When he came to the U.S. he also had no friends, no support, the whole government and way we did things was different. He really was in a completely different place among completely different people, friendless and alone."

He never thought about that. "But he had the scientists he was working with, and the soldier project," she allowed, "and you have SHIELD, and Fury, and me."

He saw her point.

"So you have 'a' friend, at the very least," she added, a little sheepish, almost as if she expected him to deny her and walk away. He wasn't sure what to make of her, so he just nodded, acknowledging her and then they parted ways.

xxXXxxXXxx

"So, do we have a working assessment yet?"

Fury asked, cutting to the chase the moment Rachel met him in his office. She took a moment to seat herself comfortably before she answered him.

"I do, and it's not so different from your initial estimates I imagine," she told him.

"Enlighten me?" he suggested.

"You've received the report I filed already, with my recommendations?" she asked noting the file she'd updated already on his desk.

He nodded to the file as well, "I do, but I'd like to hear it from you directly," he admitted, "Makes it easier, a little less time-consuming. Give me the highlights."

She suspected if he had things his way, Fury wouldn't even bother with the paper-work aspect of things, although it seemed most of it he left to his lieutenant Maria Hill regardless.

"He is obviously experiencing shock and a degree of depression from his circumstances," she reported the main points as simply as she could for the complex mechanism of an individual's psyche, "His coping mechanism has largely been to bury his head in the sand, he'd rather ignore and avoid it. Because of that his issues will likely compound, it's all he thinks about, he has nothing but those memories."

"So what's your suggestion?" Fury cut in abruptly as she neared the end of her brief explanation. "Should we consider medication or do you think he can work through this?"

Rachel sighed thinking back, she hadn't wanted to leap to conclusions but by the time Steve started talking to her about it she realized that first impression had been right on the mark. He felt useless and he had no purpose; he needed something to give him purpose, something to do and preferably something meaningful.

"I suggest that, to keep him 'grounded' as you said, he needs something to do," she said simply, "He needs a 'job' of some kind. He can't, and shouldn't, feel irrelevant if he's going to get better."

Fury fixed her with a hard look. "So you're clearing him for active duty?"

"I'm saying, he needs something to do," she repeated, "Not that SHIELD has any 'easy' missions, but he needs to be involved with something to continue to have relevance in a world that, by all accounts, has moved on without him."

He leaned back in his seat, considering her words. Rachel waited as the calculating look in Fury's eyes turned and eventually sparked with some kind of decision. "Thank you for your assessment, Doc," he said, friendly and apparently satisfied with whatever thought had occurred to him. "I hope you'll continue to monitor his situation as we progress."

She recognized a dismissal when she heard it. "Yes, sir."

ooOOooOOoo

Author notes:

Chicory is actually a real thing, and was cultivated in Europe as a coffee substitute and was even widely used in hard economic times including the Great Depression as well as World War 2; so it's not unlikely that Steve might have come into contact with it. Even if he never tried it, as one who didn't like coffee to begin with. It seemed like an interesting idea anyway.

Also I'm not sure it came across completely but I'm assuming that Rachel and Steve may have had a few other 'lunch dates' by the time he gets around to speaking to her more openly; which means Rachel can give Fury her recommendation to 'give him something to do', preferably that's meaningful in some way. Comments and constructive criticism are welcome and appreciated.

Please review.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America, the Avengers, or any derivative thereof. I make no monetary gain from this, its creation is solely for my own entertainment. If others find enjoyment in it as well then my own reward is that perhaps I made someone smile a bit more.

This story is dedicated to Sora Starkiller/Xgirl-49. Happy belated birthday!

Summary: Slight-AU. Steve Rogers has only just woken up after being frozen in ice. It's been years and everyone he knew and loved is gone. Still perhaps he can find meaning and happiness in this new time period, but there are other sinister forces at work since the end of the war.

Smiles in Sorrow

By Karin Daath

Chapter 3

It was the oddest thing. He'd barely known her a month, but somehow she'd manage to barge her way into his life; Rachel Schmidt. Steve shook his head trying to clear it. The cardboard boxes and plain manila files were nondescript enough, but they were still terribly formidable looking.

She wasn't here right now, but he could imagine what she'd say if she were. He'd finally admitted that he hadn't checked any of the files yet. She'd been interestingly understanding about it but also incredulous and demanded that before the weekend was over he had to read through all of them.

His skin prickled uncomfortably. It was a task he'd been avoiding, but there was a kind of pressure that seemed to be driving him to it. Steve nearly checked over his shoulder. But she wasn't there, if she were and saw him hesitating this much she'd just give him that vaguely disappointed and stern look. He knew what she'd do if she found out he hadn't checked. He wouldn't put it past her to invite herself over if she felt he needed that extra push.

No matter how much he could accept the strangely familiar way people treated each other, especially among friends, he didn't want her in his apartment. That was just a little too close. He still didn't really know what to make of her. But she had convinced him to leave the basement for hours at a time and try different foods and even listen to what in this age apparently passed for music.

She laughed, far too amused by his initial reaction to "R&B" and "Hip Hop". At least Jazz was still around. It had changed but at least it was familiar enough he could still appreciate the newer selections. This was different. This was closer to the strange void that he still felt.

But he had made his decision. He had meant to read them at some point, what was the difference between now and later? Steve took a deep breath, steeling himself as he took the first manila file and flipped it open.

The first few were relatively harmless. Dum Dum Dugan, one of his veteran buddies, had apparently gotten married after the war and had a healthy number of kids before he died of a heart attack. At the very least he'd lived to see his daughter married and all four of his sons off to college, three had even graduated.

Gabe Jones had remained in the army for years and had actually joined SHIELD for his remaining years. He died earlier than the others, still fighting in the line of duty. Jim Morita, James Falsworth, and Dernier all had files too. They were all gone, most of them had gone on to lead their lives as accomplished citizens and war vets after the Hydra business ended.

Peggy Carter and Howard Stark also had files. There was actually a third file with both their names on it. It didn't hurt as much as he thought it might. There was the pain and loss, that hadn't changed. But the sharp pain and the aching loneliness was gone. It made it easier as he read about the lives of his friends and how they had ended. Where their children were now and if they had gone on to make something of themselves.

It took him a little while to piece together what had happened to the two of them after the war. Peggy and Howard had gotten married, they even had a son if the report was credible. Steve had to sit back a moment after he'd read their common file.

Peggy and Howard? It made an odd kind of sense. He was happy for them. How could he not be? His two best friends… honestly how could he not approve? They were both great people and he'd cared about them both. If he was gone, then… it was almost natural, wasn't it?

Steve reviewed the file again, picking out the smaller details he'd missed on his first run through. They had gotten married several years after they defeated Hydra, Stark's business had really taken off ever since. The old photos the file contained showed them together several times. They looked happy together.

He'd had it in the back of his mind that Peggy had moved on without him, that she'd gotten married had a kid or maybe two. He'd even entertained an idea that perhaps she was an old woman now, still living. That had warped into an angry old woman who had never married and blamed him for never returning.

He'd known that was a silly thought. Peggy wasn't like that, of course she'd moved on. He'd thought it would hurt worse. But her husband was Howard, and Steve had always liked him, he was brave and smart and unafraid of risks or failure. That dynamism had propelled him and his business far beyond expectations.

Without him, Stark Industries still flourished; one of the top companies for technological advancement that there was. Peggy and Howard had a son, Tony, he ran the company now. Howard and his wife had died in a car wreck nearly a decade ago. Again Steve looked back to the image of Peggy and Howard together. They really did look happy.

Rachel's words came back to him, and she was right. He had to accept things as they were, and for some reason it wasn't as difficult as he imagined it would be. Everyone in these files had lived full lives, most of them had children that outlived them, and by all accounts they had been happy with those lives. Steve couldn't have asked for a better future for them. His only regret was that he had not had the chance to do the same.

Time to move forward.

xxXXxxXXxx

"Cap!"

It wasn't that Steve was unused to people calling him by his title "Captain America", but most of the SHIELD personnel took to calling him Steve. Fury still insisted on calling him some variation of "Captain" every chance he got. It wasn't that often, mostly Nick Fury was busy with SHIELD business but he did check in on him from time to time.

Now as the bald man approached, Steve could see him waving a file at him. Big bold letters were stamped over the head "CLASSIFIED".

"Sir," Steve greeted him, stopping in the hallway as Fury approached, "Can I help you?"

Fury walked right by him, waving him forward, "I have something to discuss with you, something that could maybe use your super-soldier finesse."

Steve caught up as Fury let them into his office, and waved at Maria for something. Whatever it was she understood him and took off down the hall. Steve followed Fury to his desk, the door fell shut behind them.

"Well go on," Fury gestured to the file, "Or would you rather I just give you the highlights?"

He glanced at the file and frowned. A thought occurred to him. It had been well over a month since Steve had woken up, and Fury was asking him about a mission now? Why now?

"The short version then," Fury decided for him, "It's actually a fairly low-priority. There's this group of domestic counter-intelligence guys who've been giving us some grief in the past year or so. You know, the anti-SHIELD stuff, abusing our powers and all that. They call themselves 'Striker'; as if their efforts weren't infantile enough, that's the name they picked for themselves."

Fury gave a derogatory laugh as he flipped the file open and turned to the relevant page of targetted persons. "We've identified a base of theirs just across state lines, and since it's so close to home I'm sending you, Widow, and Hawkeye to take care of their top brass," he gestured to the photos, "These guys. Striker has been a pain in our ass since they started up, they're a threat to national security and the peace of the people," he gave Steve a pointed look, "Think you can handle it?"

Steve considered it, Fury hadn't been kidding about the 'brief' part. "Yes, sir, I can," he told him. Despite any misgivings about Fury's reasons for doing this now, for some reason he was looking forward to getting to work. Infiltration was something he and his team had done before after all. The delay wasn't long, he hadn't lost his edge yet.

"Well, you heard him," Fury said straightening, "Guess you three can move out."

Steve turned in surprise to see two figures standing against the far wall. He hadn't seen them when he'd first come in. Both dressed in black and melding in with the shadows. He recognized them vaguely from the last time he'd been introduced.

The man with a permanent scowl and short army cut was Hawkeye, in addition to standard issue firearms he carried a bow and quiver of multipurpose projectile arrows. The woman with short red hair and a sour look on perfect features was Black Widow, both were seasoned SHIELD veterans.

"Really?" Black Widow looked Steve over skeptical, registering his surprise her eyes narrowed. Clearly he should have been more observant. If they had been enemies he'd have had little recourse to deal with the pair of them. She sneered before glancing away, dismissive. "Whatever."

Hawkeye said nothing as the pair stood and went for the door. Fury gestured for Steve to follow, and the three of them geared up to head to the Striker base. While Hawkeye didn't share the obvious disdain of Widow, Steve still got the impression he shared her incredulity.

Steve sighed and prepared himself. Well, he'd just have to prove to them he was worthy of their respect. It wasn't so long ago he was the new guy on the block, he could handle this.

xxXXxxXXxx

Breaking in to the Striker base wasn't an issue. Even the guys inside didn't pose an issue to either the two black-ops or the super-soldier. It was a great feeling to recapture the adrenaline and drive behind a single-minded goal. These men had to be stopped. He had a reason to be here; here he was in his element.

He knew how to handle himself in a fight. He knew how to disengage a hostile as quickly and painlessly as possible. This he knew, and this he could handle.

The Striker operatives seemed to largely sense that this base was lost. Most, rather than engage in combat, seemed inclined to run away to fight another day. There were three of the top brass that were supposedly on premises.

SHIELD had outfitted him with a kind of communications device. It was more compact than the ones Stark had been developing, and the signal clearer. Both Widow and Hawkeye at opposite ends of the base had taken out their target. Steve was en route to the third target of the base assault.

Security thickened as he moved onward. The target had apparently moved from his initial location, already attempting escape. Steve hurried the pace to catch up to them. Even in this time period, the vibranium shield still deflected most bullets and he used it as a weapon and battering ram as he tore through the men surrounding the fleeing target.

"-need help?-"

Steve may be the last one to get his target, but he wasn't about to botch this mission.

"I got this." he informed them.

"-we're on our way-"

Widow's voice came back over the comm, as though Steve hadn't said a word at all. No matter, he'd be done with this by the time they got here. As he closed in the target, a middle-aged man of portly stature, had stopped trying to run; he must have known it would do no good. Now he busied himself with a bottle and some other item, with his back to the approaching soldier.

The order was to catch them alive if possible, he'd heard over the comm that both Hawkeye and Widow managed to secure theirs without issue. SHIELD was already closing in to finish the job that they'd started here at the Striker base.

Steve reached him at the last, reaching for the shorter man. "You are under arrest for the-"

He was unable to finish as the man whipped around and a large knife, one Steve hadn't seen him with earlier, whipped around toward him. Steve immediately moved back to avoid the strike, but he couldn't withdraw his arm fact enough. The metal edge caught through the SHIELD armor and pad, catching the skin in a rough horizontal gash.

A thin stripe of red sluiced through the air as Steve withdrew the limb. The shorter man seemed as shocked as Steve that the attack had connected as it had. The Striker agent fell back against the wall and slid down. Steve turned back. The wound was minimal damage and would heal quickly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a wound that stung this badly though.

The man barked a short laugh. "The indestructible super-soldier," he breathed, smiling slightly, "So it works..."

Steve heard footsteps pounding on the metal behind him. Hawkeye and Widow were already here. Good, and he'd secure the operative. He had nowhere to run. He smiled slightly as he turned toward them. As he did a look of horror and rage crossed Widow's face as she sped her approach, Hawkeye did the same.

"No! Stop him!" she shrieked as she came forward.

Steve turned back to the Striker man on the ground, and realized he was swallowing something. He dropped to him, a powerful fist thudding on his chest, an attempt to get him to cough the pill back up. It didn't work. The man flinched with the force of the blow but the pill stayed down. He gave a last withering sneering grin before foam slowly bubbled up from his throat. His eyes rolled back in head.

Widow and Hawkeye reached them and Steve stood back as the redheaded woman forced her way through. "Don't you dare, you damn-!"

Like Steve, she tried to get him to cough it up, but the cyanide had already taken effect and she stood backwith a seething glare at Steve. "Why didn't you secure him?! We knew there was a chance they'd commit suicide if captured!"

It had all happened too fast. The man had been talking about the knife, just a moment ago; Steve had no reason to think he'd been about to kill himself. He vaguely noted a small bottle nearby, it had recently been emptied of some kind of green liquid; it had been there before though. The man had the cyanide pills on him. Steve hadn't paid close enough attention.

"I have no excuse." He swallowed tightly.

Widow looked like she was ready to start cursing, but instead paced back to the man and then after taking a steadying breath, turned back to Steve with dagger-like eyes. "He was the top ranking officer here. We may have the other two, but he was the one with the most information."

She didn't have to continue. Steve knew what they'd lost. He knew it, this was his fault. He had no excuse for this. He'd been briefed just like they had, and he'd been the one who made a mistake. It wasn't something a simple apology would fix.

He could see it in their eyes, hers and Hawkeye's. He'd failed this mission. Just like they'd suspected he would.

xxXXxxXXxx

It shouldn't have had the effect it did. So he'd made a mistake. Didn't mean everything was over. He could correct it. But this was his first mission. Who knew if Fury would bother giving him another.

His fist struck hard against the sandbag. Maybe too hard, the ceiling chain rattled with the strike. The next punch came and the next, and still his thoughts rode on, ribbing him and twisting in him.

Low-priority, that's what Fury had said. But every mission should be treated with the same attention and determination. He'd set out to do it all right. He'd been in his element. Obviously it wasn't enough!

The next strike sent the sandbag sailing through the air. The seam split up the side and with a heaving groan the bag spilled it's insides out all over the boxing ring floor.

It wasn't enough. His arm still throbbed where the knife sliced through. Odd, those things usually healed up by now. No matter, it would soon enough. He deserved the sting. It matched the feeling of defeat and loss that dug at him now. He couldn't get over it. He failed his mission. The very first one since...

The heavy metal doors creaked open snapping him from his reverie. He braced himself for Fury to walz through those doors asking "So... what the hell happened, Cap?!"

It was worse than that. It was Rachel. "Hey," she greeted, friendly enough; maybe she hadn't heard yet. "I heard you got your first mission already. How did it go?"

Steve chose to ignore her and he unhooked the busted sandbag and went to put up a new one. "Fine." he said, his voice sounded oddly hollow, even to himself.

The new bag clicked into place on the hanging chain. Rachel was frowning as she approached and stepped into the ring with him. "Just fine? Want to tell me about it?" she prodded.

"No." he bit back. Rachel was worse than Fury in the sense that he felt even worse having to explain it to her, worse that she'd try to understanding. Fury at least knew he was at fault. So did Steve. He didn't need someone to understand that accidents happened; he needed...

He had no idea what he needed.

"Is that blood?!"

Her anxious shout drew him back as she suddenly came forward to examine his forarm.

"What happened?!" she demanded, "Why didn't you get this treated?!"

He pulled his arm away. "I'm fine," he told her, meaning it this time, "Super-soldier; I heal quick." he assured her. Her eyes narrowed and she made a scoffing noise as she shook her head and took his arm again, dragging him forcefully to the back stool and cabinets.

"Not quick enough, apparently," she said pointedly as she gestured to a stool for him to sit on. She was checking the cabinets now. Steve sighed and took a seat. She probably wouldn't leave him alone until she got to do whatever it was.

She finally extracted a first-aid kit from the cabinet and Steve nodded his head understanding, honestly he should have suspected as much. "Let me see," Rachel demanded as she sat down with the disinfecting supplies.

Somewhat reluctantly Steve huffed and bared his wounded forearm to her. She shouldn't have to see him like this. She shouldn't have to deal with him when he was this angry with himself. He started with a hiss as she applied the disinfectant.

"Sorry if it stings," she said, smiling slightly; even if she was sorry it didn't stop her from dabbing the alcohol swab all over the affected area. Steve grit his teeth and bore it with good grace. The pain eventually receded and she applied some kind of balm to help with the healing process before reaching for the bandages.

He didn't really understand it before, but watching her now, with her single-minded focus on her task, Steve thought maybe he understood her a little better. Rachel was essentially a good person. If she reached out to him it was because she felt he needed it. He smiled a little to himself, in retrospect he had needed it.

She was looking for out for him when she didn't need to. He'd tried to push her away but somehow she just kept burrowing in deeper. He hadn't really considered it before when he'd been watching her, but she was actually very pretty.

"You know, it's okay to make a mistake," her soft voice startled him from his thoughts briefly. She looked up at him; she was nearly done with the bandages. "Even if you're a hero, you're human too. The important part, if things don't go well, is that you keep trying to do your best regardless. If you gave your all and did your best, you have nothing to be ashamed of."

More than her words, it was the sincerity in her eyes, her expression as she reached out to him. Where once he tried to block it out, now he listened. She looked back at his arm and finished with the bandage. "You're going to be alright." She told him, and he knew she was talking about more than just his arm.

He flexed his limb and nodded to himself, turning back to her. "Thanks."

She was smiling again. He really liked the way her eyes lit up like that. She could tell he meant it too. "You're welcome."

ooOOooOOoo

Author notes:

So I know that Peggy Carter as Howard Stark's wife, and Tony's mom, is a huge major change to the cannon! It's not really important to the story or anything though, it's just a fun idea I've always had. It may not be canon but it's my head-cannon!

I want to say I'm quite clever since cannon has Peggy's daughter as a love-interest for Captain America in the comics, and by marrying Peggy to Howard I erase that possibility and also tie together two of Steve's best friends so he can't really object if he's out-of-the-picture as it were.

The lives and deaths of his friends Dum Dum Dugan, Jones, and the others are all made up more or less; although if you read the Wikipedia page supposedly Dugan did die of a heart attack (at least in one reality) and Jones also died while fighting Hydra later on (so kinda?) and then they both come back as authors require because clones/never-really-died/alternate-reality/insert-reason-here.

Again I hope it was a bit of a fun read and would like to restate that comments and constructive criticism are not only appreciated but highly valued!

Please review.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America, the Avengers, or any derivative thereof. I make no monetary gain from this, its creation is solely for my own entertainment. If others find enjoyment in it as well then my own reward is that perhaps I made someone smile a bit more.

This story is dedicated to Sora Starkiller/Xgirl-49. Happy belated birthday!

Summary: Slight-AU. Steve Rogers has only just woken up after being frozen in ice. It's been years and everyone he knew and loved is gone. Still perhaps he can find meaning and happiness in this new time period, but there are other sinister forces at work since the end of the war.

Smiles in Sorrow

By Karin Daath

Chapter 4

It had been well over three months and there was no more denying it. Steve was honestly starting to be very fond of Rachel. Now he had considered the fact that since he woke up he had interacted with relatively few individuals, but there was nothing false or feigned in the flare of affection he felt when she smiled.

He felt nothing but honest contentment when that look of satisfied appreciation crossed her face, whenever they conversed and found new areas to explore either in music, food, and even literature. Science-fiction had been a relatively small genre 70 years ago and since then had apparently exploded, as had television.

Steve had again taken to jogging in the early mornings, although not so early as before. The sights and sounds weren't quite so new anymore. He even vaguely appreciated the way certain things had changed. Automobiles new sleek models were obviously more aerodynamic and efficient for travel, and he'd even come to appreciate the new and alien foods that had cropped up with various vendors on the surrounding streets of the New York headquarters.

Once it had stopped being so alien, even the clear and open set-up of the SHIELD canteen and lunch area had become more acceptable. One of the main reasons he'd allowed his jogging to begin later than usual was also so he could time his return to the building around the rough interval that Rachel usually showed up as well.

This morning she was wearing black pants instead of her usual skirt. She was also yawning and trying to tuck a stray stand of hair back behind her ear when she'd apparently missed pulling it into her usual ponytail. Some mornings she'd be glancing at her wrist-watch and hurrying up to her office, usually that meant she was running late for a meeting of some kind.

This morning however, she wasn't in any hurry, and that yawn was very telling. She probably wouldn't turn down something caffeinated at the canteen; so he called out to her.

She looked up, somewhat surprised before smiling in recognition. "Good morning," she greeted back, "Have a good run?"

"It was nice out," he agreed, the sun still hadn't breached the tall buildings of the city but the hum of life and activity was ever-present. "Can I get you a coffee?"

The surprised look returned and her eyes narrowed as her grin stretched, giving a somewhat sardonic expression, "Don't tell me you've found a blend you like?"

He shrugged, "Well… I'll probably stick with chicory, actually."

She laughed and nodded, "Coffee, sounds great," she agreed, and the two of them headed toward the canteen. She always seemed more cheerful whenever he initiated their conversations; and Steve had become more accustomed to her questions and off-hand prying.

"So you finished with the files?"

"I did." He confirmed.

"Seems, you're okay with it," she said studying his reaction, she was smiling pleasantly, "How do you feel about it now?"

"Honestly? Relieved." He said after considering it. "It was good advice. Now I know." Honestly he hadn't known what to make of her prodding before, but now he got the idea that she had been trying to help him along, even if in the process it felt like she'd been ripping him open.

"Making any friends yet?" she wondered.

"Um… some." He hesitated, still not quite sure how to take that. Sure he talked with people, and he knew the doorman at his building and the laundry lady up the street, but it wasn't exactly someone you'd call a 'friend'.

"Your teammates then?" she pressed, offering it as a suggestion. Steve sighed a little, wondering how to phrase his response.

His teammates for the past few missions Fury had sent him on… well Widow and Hawkeye weren't the easiest people to get along with. He knew he still had a lot to prove to them, and in the meantime things weren't exactly 'friendly'.

Rachel seemed to key in to his mindset and backed off. "Yeah? Well, they can be… they're… 'reticent', I suppose." She seemed to agree. "But that's just who they are. They're both essentially good people."

Steve nodded in agreement. Even if he knew nothing else about them, he understood that they were both part of SHIELD because it was something they believed in, that they had their own sense of right and wrong. He wasn't sure if that really classified them as strictly 'good', but at the very least he could respect them, their abilities, and that during the past few missions they'd had his back.

Even if he'd had theirs they had yet to say anything further since the error he made on their first mission against Striker.

"They'll come around." Rachel told him, reassuring. Her phone alarm went off shortly after and she had to stop mid-drink to fish it out of her purse and check it. She smiled wryly and got to her feet, taking her things with her. "Well, I better get going. This was really nice though, thank you Steve. I'll see you around lunch time maybe?"

Steve stood with her, acting quickly as Rachel gathered her things and started moving toward the double glass doors.

"Rachel," he said seriously, and she turned back to him, "I want to be up-front with you about this, and it's something I've wanted to say for a while now and I hope you don't think I'm too forward. I think you're really great."

"I think you're really great too." She returned easily, still smiling brightly. "Thanks for the coffee, I'll see you later, yeah?" and before he could collect himself enough to go on she'd already thanked him and turned toward the elevators.

It wasn't quite how he'd seen this meeting end. But then she probably had a meeting to get to. He'd see her again later today, if not then tomorrow. His own cell chirped a message from Fury in a few more hours. It was another mission, a Striker training base.

Within a few hours Steve, Widow, and Hawkeye were en route to the location. Again their mission consisted of break-in along with an entourage of SHIELD agents to neutralize base operations and training and recover as much intelligence on the Striker operations as possible.

SHIELD had intercepted information that Striker was aware of the super-human base of agents they were putting together. In response Striker had started working on something to counteract super-human capabilities. They still weren't sure what it was. There were at least two personnel targeted as having relevant information. Again they were to capture these men for questioning.

Steve briefly lamented that he'd miss lunch with Rachel, but she'd understand, and he'd have another chance. Now, he cleared his mind; this time he wouldn't make the same mistakes.

xxXXxxXXxx

Michael Cowyn had been a trainee for over six months. The physical conditioning had been easy compared to the indoctrination. When he'd first joined his own beliefs, while similar to the Striker cause, had been weak and flimsy. Now he understood his purpose. Now he was ready to do what had to be done to rid the world of the evil that was SHIELD.

They called themselves protectors, when they were the poisonous cancer that infected everything. Litigation and peaceful demonstration were too weak, too slow, to change anything. There was nothing for it. SHIELD had to be destroyed, along with the super-human army they were forming.

"Michael," he stood at attention before his superior training office, this was his final initiation, "The time has come. You have proven yourself to be one of us, it is time you join our ranks."

"Sir!"

It was an honor to be chosen from the ranks to join Striker and do their work. He was looking forward to finally being of use to this great cause. More so since he would be working directly under his commanding officer; they would be reviewing the creation of the new serum to help combat the super-human threat that SHIELD was creating.

There was a rite of passage, and he swore again to uphold the ideals and doctrine of Striker, to protect against the evils of SHIELD and work to hasten their demise. When he stood again, he was one of them. His superior, his teacher, his commanding officer, clapped him on the shoulder with a grin.

"Consider yourself promoted," the man told him heartily, and Michael grinned back at him.

The long days of labor and training were finally at an end. It was a dream that came true. A moment later the nightmare started.

The alarms suddenly went off and the lights shifted to emergency mode. Communications went haywire as news of assault and enemy invasion breached through. The base was under attack. Reports of SHIELD agents were on the air-waves; they'd even brought one of those super-human monsters with them!

"Go, Michael! I'm right behind you!"

The group of them ran for it, but his commander kept prodding Michael further ahead. The reports came faster, they could hear gunfire a few corridors over. SHIELD was closing in. They had to get out of the basement and back to ground level. If they'd thought building most of the base underground would protect them from discovery, they were wrong.

The gunfire stopped as suddenly as it started and the metal floors banged with activity, the gunfire started again as the entourage just behind Michael began firing on their assailant. A sudden streak of metal sailed through the air. It nearly took off Michael's head before he managed to duck.

Looking back, he knew the super-human in question. Captain America. Apparently SHIELD was even preying on people's love for the old 'hero' as they had him outfitted in a newer version of the same colors he wore years before. "Run!" his superior urged him as the super-human bore down.

Michael made it to the door. As he tore out into the safety of the world beyond he looked back in time to see the super-human strike the cyanide capsule out of his superior's hands and hoist him to his feet. SHIELD agents were behind him in the corridor.

The place was overrun. The base was lost, his commanding officer was lost. Michael grit his teeth in rage and fled. He vowed the super-human monster would pay. This was not the end of Striker… it was only the beginning.

xxXXxxXXxx

It had been several days since Rachel had last seen Steve Rogers. She was actually down in the reference library rechecking notes on Bruce Banner against recent accounts. Fury had asked for a report on his recent activity, the green man had been sighted several times, so it was reasonable to see if some assessment of his current mindset could be gleaned from that.

Again her thoughts turned back to Steve. It was wonderful that he seemed less repulsed by the world around him; his manner and apparent ease when she'd last seen him made her think he was finally coming to terms with his place in the current time period and in SHIELD. She'd been right to ask Fury to include him in active missions; it seemed to have galvanized his recovery. He wasn't nearly so morose, he even participated in gym activities more than the basement boxing ring.

She sighed in frustration. She was supposed to be working on a different case right now, but again she kept thinking back to Steve! She rubbed her temples trying to clear them, as though her current one-track mind was just a headache she could recover from.

The more she tried to deny it the more she realized that man and his boyish grin and straight-forward gaze were etched too deeply into her mind. She knew he was safe; Fury had reported that much. He, Widow, and Hawkeye had been working on a couple different cases to do with Striker, a domestic counter-intelligence and militarized group.

Honestly, their ideas weren't the problem; it was their method of unsanctioned militarized force that created issues. Their cause would better be served in rousing public awareness to their cause and forcing a vote at the senate or congressional level. That was what their country was about; if they could sway the will of the people then getting their way wouldn't be something they had to spill blood over.

She reached for her coffee cup and discovered it was nearly empty now. Steve already knew how much she liked the hazelnut blends. She smiled in some fondness when she remembered the few times he'd managed to catch her in the morning. Maybe it was a little unprofessional, but he really looked great after his morning jog.

The way his sweaty t-shirt clung to him, accentuated his muscles just the right way. The way his sweat always seemed to roll off drawing attention to the best curve of his jaw or bicep. The way his grin creased the corners of his eyes and made everything turn into a fuzzy kind of tunnel vision.

Rachel sighed again. She wasn't getting any work done at all like this. If she kept thinking about him she was half sure he'd pop into existence just to prove she'd gone completely insane. That was when she noticed Steve Rogers standing in front of the commons desk she'd been working at.

"Hi Rachel," he grinned, and somewhere she got lost in their pearly gleam and the bright blue eyes focused on her. "Fancy seeing you here."

For a moment she could think of no coherent response and fought to keep the telling flush from creeping into her cheeks. "Steve! Welcome back!" she finally exclaimed, hoping to explain the way she flushed simply to be from surprise, and not decidedly wicked thoughts about said golden boy. "I heard you had another mission; did you just get back?"

She stood as she said this, pulling her papers together in a feign of putting things to rights, when in fact she was hoping to cover the pertinent articles on bi-polar and split personality disorder as well as mood affectations.

"Yeah, just a few hours ago," he confirmed, "And good thing too, I actually have an appointment here."

"An appointment?" now she was curious. She knew Steve was finally starting to do outside research into subjects other than 'history', partly spawned by his involvement in the Striker missions but also to do with various topics she'd been trying to draw him into, successfully. She of course encouraged any behavior that meant he was forming new attachments and relationships. But she couldn't think of any reason there would be an appointment in the reference library unless he was looking something up.

"Not with the staff," he clarified, "I just know they have plenty of quiet spaces. I actually found Howard's son in the system. Tony Stark, he agreed to meet me here to talk. I guess he's meeting with Fury close to this time too, so he didn't mind dropping by the library for a bit."

Anthony Stark? Rachel considered her options. She could always make an excuse to run away; if she took the reference materials with her she could work on the Banner case in her office instead of the library.

It wasn't that she was running away. But Tony knew exactly who she was, and the man had a great big mouth that hardly ever shut up. Most of the time he was talking about a great big hunk of nothing, a kind of defense mechanism she'd deduced early on, which was fine in this scenario, but if he latched onto something else… that may not end well.

"Well, that's wonderful, I was just finishing up something here," she said gathering her papers, "I'll leave you to it, and I wish you luck!"

"Hey, Doc!"

And her escape was ruined as the billionaire playboy waltzed in. Steve turned and seemed to nod at the resemblance to his father. By all rights they were nearly spitting images of each other, at least when Howard was younger; Rachel had seen the photos.

"And you must be the Captain." Tony turned to Steve, giving him a quick once over, "Well, nice to finally meet you, I know my dad never shut up about you when he wasn't going on about one of his projects."

For a brief moment she hoped maybe he wouldn't so much as glance at her again. But of course that would have been too easy. "And the shrink, you guys having a meeting? I'm not interrupting am I?"

"No." Rachel insisted firmly. At least at this particular moment in time, that was completely true; she was not having a meeting with Steve with her professional motive of 'shrink' behind it.

"What are you talking about?" Steve asked, he was grinning, good-natured as always but clearly confused.

"Oh, well Rachel here's a psychologist, you know a 'head shrink'?" Tony clarified to Steve's apparent surprise. Rachel steeled herself. It was going to come out eventually… she just wished it didn't have to be so-! So completely flippant!

"Fury actually had her analyze me a while back, so I just figured she'd been asked to do the same to you," Tony shrugged.

Why did it have to be Tony?! Why here?! Why now?!

"Anyway, I really only stopped by because Pepper went and replied for me, and then bribed me – imagine that – to stop by here before I talk to Fury," Tony informed them just as flippantly as he checked his watch and started to turn to head out; "So no hard feelings, and I'll be seeing ya!"

"Sure," Steve nodded, apparently a bit numb, "I guess…"

Tony swept away from them and Rachel waited for Steve to turn back to her. She waited for the inevitable back lash. It was so obvious, and she had nothing to defend herself with. She could accept this. It was inevitable.

Her heart thudded uncomfortably fast, and she was aware that her breathing was already faster and uneven. The waiting was the worst part. After a moment she dared glance over at Steve. He hadn't moved yet. Apparently still shocked, and processing things… her betrayal of trust for one…

"Huh, strange guy."

Not the response she'd been expecting.

"What?"

"I guess he wasn't even the one who replied to my message," Steve shrugged turning back with a still somewhat confused grin, shaking his head. "I guess at least I know what happened, right?"

"Right…" she agreed. Still waiting… although at this point she wasn't sure if he'd even heard everything Tony had been saying now.

"So you're a psychologist?"

The anvil fell.

"That's right." She admitted with a nod, "I'm sorry I never mentioned my job before, it just never came up."

It was the only defense she really had.

"No, I was just wondering," Steve said nodding, "I always thought you were kind of insightful, I guess it makes a little more sense now."

Wait…

"Anyway, you want to grab dinner?"

That was it? No shocked reaction, no declaration of betrayal or hurt or…?! He didn't know. He hadn't made the connection at all. He didn't know?! Somehow the comment that Tony had made had gone righ over his head and he hadn't made the connection that she'd been secretly-!

Oh thank goodness!

Relief flooded through Rachel like a warm balm to calm her erratic thoughts. She actually sighed, relieved as she gathered herself together to consider his question and form a coherent response.

"Something wrong?" he asked, and she shook her head quickly.

"No, nothing," she insisted, it seemed that things were actually still alright, perfectly fine; great even! "Although I don't think the canteen is open this late. They don't usually do dinner."

"No, I meant," Steve let out a short laugh as his breathtaking grin returned, and again blue eyes snared her completely, "I meant I want to take you out to dinner."

Again her mind shut down for a moment, trying to process the request he was making. The way his eyes caught the light and seemed to sparkle, didn't help her coherency.

"What's the phrase," he seemed to elaborate based on her confused expression, " 'It's a date'?"

HUH?!

Rachel couldn't keep the flush that flamed in her cheeks as she realized what this poor beautiful trusting man was asking her for. She nearly let loose an undignified exclaimation of shock. Fortunately what came out was:

"I'd love to!"

ooOOooOOoo

Author notes:

So about the Striker operative guy… no relation to any actual person of that name (I hope Cowyn's not a real last name so I don't have this issue) but any similarity to persons living or dead is coincidence; this is entirely a work of fiction! Please, it's all in good fun and it's just fiction.

Also the introduction of Tony and Steve reaching out to other avenues if just so I can shoe-horn this last scene in there, it has no real bearing on anything other than (1) Steve is getting better and recovering from any PTSD/survivors guilt/feelings of displacement he's been having, and (2) yes, Rachel, you should feel horribly guilty about all this! XP

Also, it's been a while since we've read anything from Rachel's point-of-view, huh? Again I hope this was a fun read and would like to say that comments and constructive criticism are not only appreciated but highly valued!

Please review.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America, the Avengers, or any derivative thereof. I make no monetary gain from this, its creation is solely for my own entertainment. If others find enjoyment in it as well then my own reward is that perhaps I made someone smile a bit more.

This story is dedicated to Sora Starkiller/Xgirl-49. Happy belated birthday!

Summary: Slight-AU. Steve Rogers has only just woken up after being frozen in ice. It's been years and everyone he knew and loved is gone. Still perhaps he can find meaning and happiness in this new time period, but there are other sinister forces at work since the end of the war.

Smiles in Sorrow

By Karin Daath

Chapter 5

Steve had actually picked a very nice place for their date. Rachel hadn't been here before though she'd seen it from the street and her friends sometimes mentioned it in relation to a dinner they'd had. If she remembered correctly the food had a decent, if not stellar, reputation. It was French, and considered very avant-garde.

Oddly enough her greater concern had been what to wear. She spent most of the day working on her various cases, without much progress to her preoccupied thoughts, and had initially thought she'd just slip into her little black dress for the dinner date.

When she put it on she realized it showed quite a bit of leg. Maybe too much… also she had to reign herself back to remember that even if it was a 'date', and she'd rather foolishly agreed to it, she had to keep a correct perspective. Steve was technically one of her case subjects.

In the end she'd decided on one of her more dressy work skirts and a nice blouse. No matter how much she talked the 'date' down, she still spent an hour perfecting her hair and make-up. Rather than pick her up as he'd originally suggested, he agreed to her compromise where they would meet at the city square for a short walk to the restaurant.

Rachel had seen Steve in sweaty t-shirts and sweatpants as well as his SHIELD gear that had been retrofitted to be reminiscent of his original colors. Steve in a suit was… well, she couldn't quite take her eyes off him. Regardless of his wholesome image, the man could be rather dashing.

He seemed to notice. "I never did do well in a penguin suit, I always manage to look foolish," he shrugged looking down at himself. His sheepish grin was adorable. "You look lovely though."

"Don't sell yourself short like that," Rachel told him, smiling as she shook her head. "You look fantastic. No man looks foolish in a suit."

He didn't contradict her and she didn't miss the way his face reddened slightly as he bowed his head at the complement. Like a gentleman he offered her his arm, which she took, and they walked toward the restaurant.

"I've never been here before, but I've heard it's very good." Steve said after a few moments, his voice somehow fizzled with nervous energy. "I've over ever seen it from the street but I asked around a little. The girl at the canteen, Melanie, she says it's beautiful at night, the way they do the lights and everything. I guess it's-"

"I've also never been, but have heard good things too," she confirmed breaking his hurried jumbling of words, "Guess we'll find out? But I'm sure it'll be great. The company is after all."

She saw Steve redden a little again, but his lips curled in a wide grin. She could tell he still had a lot of that nervous energy, once they were inside she'd have to turn the conversation to something to make him feel more at ease.

It was a slightly more difficult task than she'd anticipated. She'd never actually been in the restaurant and hadn't realized from the street side how fancy it was. The lights were high and bright and through all the crystals decorating them managed to give the room a kind of comfortable and cozy glow. There were candles on the tables with white pristine tablecloths and napkins folded into pyramid shapes.

Since they had a reservation they were seated quickly with two tall book-like menus. There were several pages of gourmet dishes, and most of the items were listed in French. "I didn't realize New York had so many people fluent in French these days," Steve said after a moment of what Rachel had assumed was a comfortable silence while they perused the menu.

"I wonder about that," she mused, trying to sound equally confused, "Oh wait, look, in the description, the second line tells you what it is in English." She pointed out.

"Oh, I see," Steve grinned in relief. His brow furrowed slightly as he squinted at the pages. "They use pretty tiny print for it, don't they?"

Rachel just smiled. Having lived in New York for a few years now, she knew there were actually a few places that used food names that weren't terribly descriptive. The first italic underline was more French but there was almost always a bottom line that accommodated the largely English-speaking New York populace.

Unless you went to Chinatown, that was an entirely different story.

A short while later the waiter came, clearing his throat a bit loudly as he greeted them, stating that he would be their server this evening. "May _I_ take your orderz?" he asked, his accent stretching the 'I' into an 'ai-ee' sound.

"Yes, I think we'll start with the Tomato Basil Baguette," they both thought they'd try it, "I'll have the Beef bourguignon, and the lady will have the Chicken Plate."

The man sniffed a little, "You mean the _Tomate_ Bazil Baguette to ztart, the _Boeuf_ _Bourguignonne_ and the _Poulet_ _Plaque_?"

Steve gave him a long look. "Yes."

The waiter gave a half-sneer, "Oui mizzer, your food will be out _momentarily_," he took their menus and whisked off. Fortunately the policy seemed to be to disturb the guests as little as possible, so when he delivered their drinks he was very quick and further interaction was limited.

Steve sighed a little, "Well, I knew I'd butcher it worse if I tried to read it from the menu."

"Don't worry about him," Rachel told him, and brushed it off, "The way he had to repeat everything 'in French' makes me wonder if he's compensating for something." Even if New Yorkers could be rude, the service industry still tended to maintain a certain level of friendliness, if he was that rude regardless… "For example, think he might be faking his accent?"

Steve nearly coughed his drink and then seemed to seriously consider it, "Well," he deliberated, "I've never seen another person who manages to turn every 's' into a 'z'."

Rachel laughed, and grinned in agreement. "So how are things progressing with your teammates?" she asked, referring to the domestic missions he'd had on assignment.

"It's… progressing," Steve hedged, "As you said, they're both a little cautious, I can respect that."

"What about you?" Rachel wondered, "Does it affect the team dynamic? Make things more difficult? Or do you just go after separate objectives?"

She'd already read the reports. Most of the time Captain America, Black Widow, and Hawkeye all went after different targets in a forked approach to the Striker bases.

Steve frowned, "Of course it affects things, and yes as long as we go after separate objectives it's not as difficult but…"

But Captain America had once worked with a cohesive team that had worked together and played off each other to their respective strengths. Working in SHIELD so far was different. "Think of anything that might make it easier?" she wondered, "Do you ever have a chance to talk to them?"

"Maybe, they're not really the 'friends' type from what I've gotten so far," Steve pointed out, "What about you? You mainly work by yourself with SHIELD, right?"

"As a contractor, yes, primarily," she agreed, "Have you been to the training room with them? It's just a thought, but if you work with your teammates off mission-time too, it could help."

"I might," he considered it, "If I work out, I'll mainly stick to the basement gym, it's kind of my stomping grounds at this point," he shrugged, looking back to her; the fact he was still smiling she took to mean he was more comfortable with her questions than when she'd initially been assessing him and his reactions. "What about you? You have friends in SHIELD? People you work with? People outside of SHIELD?"

"You need to get out of the basement more," Rachel told him, "Other agents use the facility gym, have you been in there yet?"

"Ah-ah," Steve shook his head, giving her a half-glare. Rachel gave him a quizzical look, confused. "This has to go both ways, if you're asking questions, I'm asking mine too and you didn't answer."

"What? I have friends," Rachel told him simply, laughing a little at this impromptu ultimatum, "I'm just curious how much you've really started branching out."

"And I'm curious about you," Steve countered, "So tell me: friends? Hobbies? What?"

Rachel leaned back considering. She didn't often have to give information about herself. Most people were happy to talk about themselves, and even when they weren't interested in talking about sensitive topics they never turned it around on her. But he wasn't asking for anything awful; in fact she felt a little flattered that he might be interested in knowing more about her.

"I have friends and acquaintances, in SHIELD I count Maria Hill as one of my friends, she knows how I like my coffee and sometimes if she's gone to get something for Fury she'll bring me something back too from the bagel shop," Rachel explained, "Outside of SHIELD I keep in touch with two friends I've known since high school. One of them is an accountant, she works on Wall Street, and the other is an outlet manager; she took over her family business and their main store she works out of is in upstate."

"That's great, you still see them if they're both in New York," Steve grinned a little, "What about family? Did you grow up in the city?"

"Ah-ah. My turn." Rachel shook her head at him, "So what else have you branched out into? If not the gym, where else? In SHIELD? Outside SHIELD? Or why haven't you gone to the facility gym? Scared of something?" she suggested.

Steve scoffed a little before responding with the typical denial phrased in a 'macho' manner. Honestly the more she prodded it was less purposeful isolation, he and his team mates, at least to date, had relatively little in common. As long as the missions went well, group dynamics could wait. At least the Captain was suited to a team environment; Fury's focus on that lately was a bit distracting.

Then somehow he got her talking about college. When she turned the question back on him, even he had amusing anecdotes from nearly 70 years ago. They spent the better part of an hour finding differences between the two time periods course-work in regards to American History. She didn't really notice when she'd segued into asking simpler personal questions instead of ones with a measurable goal in mind.

The arrival of their respective meals only slowed the conversation, and did not halt it. Toward the end of their meal they both decided it would be a good idea to have a drink of champagne. The bottle was delivered with a curt "mademozelle" and "mizzer", Rachel had been under the impression the waiter would open the bottle for their glasses but instead he quickly strode away.

Rachel frowned. "Could have sworn pouring the booze was part of service."

"Apparently not." With a shrug Steve reached for the bubbly and began to work the stopper loose.

There was little warning when the bottle opened with a loud pop, bubbles frothing up and overflowing. The top flew out of Steve's hand onto the plate of a nearby table. He gave a sharp inhale as he quickly held the bottle out from his body, where the bubbles continued to froth and pop out of the opened bottle.

All eyes in the restaurant had turned toward them, at least briefly; some people were already wincing slightly and returning to their meals hoping to quickly ignore it. A few others were snickering into their plates and to their dinner companions. The staff however was oddly slow to respond.

"My most closely guarded secret, you can't take me anywhere; now you know." Steve managed a deprecating grin as he reach for his table napkin to try to start sopping up the mess. Rachel grabbed her own and stood up to help.

"No, just the fancy places," Rachel amended for him, "The canteen or a simple burger join with a jukebox wouldn't have been nearly such a disaster." She shot him a toothy grin to let him know she was just teasing, as they managed to set the bottle, no longer overflowing, back on the table without incident. "No, seriously, mistakes happen. Sometimes they're unavoidable."

"I appreciate that," Steve said after they at least managed to get the excess bubbles off his shoes, pants, and chair. The waiter somehow managed to return just as they were managing to pour themselves a glass, and with a slight sneer made a curt apology for the mess and offered to get them another bottle to compensate.

They decided against that.

"I wonder though, did I ruin the entire evening?" Steve asked as they were getting ready to leave.

Rachel rolled her eyes and shook her head, offering a smile as she took his arm again, "Not at all." She assured him. "But if you still feel that way, you could always just make it up to me next time."

"Next time?" he repeated, "You want there to be a next time?"

"I didn't say that, did I?" Rachel mused, noncommittal.

They had left the restaurant by now, and for the moment a short walk on the city street seemed like a good idea. How they'd part or go home hadn't really been arranged, and while having Steve walk her home might have sounded like a good idea, she knew her feet would thank her for taking a cab from the next block over.

"You implied, but… actually, I would," Steve started, "I mean; if it wasn't horrible, then it might be nice, right?"

"Maybe," she not-really agreed.

He sighed a little, "I'm saying, that if you- um, that is," he fumbled, searching for the right way he was trying to phrase it. A cool kind of smile curved at Rachel's lips and she glanced over at him; blue eyes bright, the light from the sidewalk lamp threw his profile into relief, a perfect aquiline nose and pronounced chin.

She grinned at him as he still considered his words, half-realizing that he was babbling if the slight red tint to his cheek was any indication. "Well, I guess it's really just that I'd like to-"

"Steve," she interrupted him. Disengaging herself from his arm she stepped around in front of him. He stood at attention, and she almost wished he hadn't straightened like that. He was a good bit taller than her and she couldn't reach that for.

So she put her hand around the back of his head, pulling him back down. He seemed surprised enough that he didn't try to stop her, and fortunately he didn't pull away when her face closed in on his. Her head tilted slightly as she pressed her lips up against his.

It was brief and chaste and she pulled away a moment later, offering his stunned expression a quick smirk, "We will definitely do this again sometime." She assured him, her voice pitched to a husky whisper she barely recognized as her own voice.

Then she walked away, turning quickly before he could see the hot flush that crept up over her face. Fortunately he didn't follow her; she vaguely she hoped she didn't stun the man into non-response. She flushed harder as she realized how forward that really was.

After the fact she wasn't entirely sure why she did it. She picked up her pace a little, still walking hurriedly down the street. She probably should have considered how, really, that was a mistake; but she was a little caught up in the fact that his lips had been warm and a little chapped.

His expression of attention and then wide blue eyes in something like shock, the vague red tinge to his face, one that she'd hoped was from her; these were all the things her mind had room for at the moment. That and the way the street lamps lit on his skin and how good he honestly looked wearing a suit.

She giggled a little to herself and her cheeks felt hot all over again. It was childish maybe, but she was honestly giddy about it. And, by the way he was stumbling over his words toward the end there, he actually wanted to see her again. In a moment of honesty with herself, she sincerely hoped for the same.

Then her cell phone rang. She jumped slightly, still smiling to herself, and flushed again feeling her own foolishness before fishing the phone out of her purse and opening it.

"Hello?" she asked, genial, still overflowing with an unreasonable amount of happiness.

"Hey Doc, you sound mighty happy about something."

Her high deflated immediately as she heard the man on the other end. "Director Fury," she greeted, schooling both her voice and features to her professional mien once more, silently kicking herself for not checking the caller ID before she picked up. "How can I help you, sir?"

"Well, I wanted to check in on how our boy in red-white-and-blue is doing." For some reason it sounded as though he was mocking her. Somehow Rachel wouldn't put it past Fury to know exactly where she had been and who she had been with just a short while before he called.

"He's doing fine, better than I could have anticipated, though there is still room for improvement," she highlighted quickly, "The important thing is that domestic missions are progressing smoothly; he still has reservations about being the first to approach his teammates to engage in friendly relation, though this is primarily due to perceived antipathies from Black Widow and Hawkeye. If you want me to pursue negotiations in regards to the relations of those three I think it would be beneficial for me to speak with the two of them as well."

"Hmm, things that bad between the three of them?" Fury seemed to muse to himself, "Well I suppose as long as the missions go alright, it's fine then. Is that what I'm hearing?"

"If that's adequate for you sir, we can address issues as they arise," she agreed, "Are there any other problem areas you'd like me to address?"

"Not regarding those three," Fury told her, "You said there's still room to improve?"

"Steve has begun- the Captain, has been branching out to different areas, last week he appears to have come to terms with the friends and teammates he knew from 70 years ago," she reviewed, "And while he had increased activity outside SHIELD and the basement facility I'm concerned that he hasn't formed any strong attachments as yet."

"Strong attachments, huh?" Fury considered, "Seems to me, he's already got at least one 'strong attachment'."

"Sir?" she asked sharply, "I'm not sure I caught that, could you repeat it?"

The last of his statement was muttered almost as if he was speaking to someone else and hadn't fully taken the phone away so she couldn't hear it completely. She'd heard it, but the way he'd said it troubled her. He knew.

"Oh, nothing, just saying something to Maria is all," Fury told her, dismissive, "Keep me posted on any changes or new information."

"Yes, sir."

He hung up. Rachel took the phone away and closed it up again. She was glaring now, but she wasn't mad at Fury. She was mad at herself. Of course Fury would know about their little 'date', he probably knew all about her stupid… not very thought-out behavior.

In a moment the anger drained to be replaced by weariness. She sighed and put her phone away. Things had changed, they probably had even before tonight. Even if she could manage to do her job, she had to acknowledge that at this point her feelings for Steve Rogers were… well, suffice to say 'decidedly unprofessional'.

She wasn't sure what she was going to do about it, what she could do about it. If it were any other scenario she could refer him to another for assessment. If she were a better person she should have requested to Fury right there on the phone to assign someone else to the Captain's case. But she hadn't. She didn't want to. It was probably wrong but… it wasn't something she wanted to give up.

xxXXxxXXxx

Michael Cowyn was now commander of his own Striker operative group. He still burned with rage for SHIELD and the day his own commanding officer was taken down by the super-human monsters used by that corrupted organization.

"Sir! Sir!"

A field agent, one who patrolled the grounds near SHIELD headquarters looking for personnel that they could utilize. SHIELD agents were difficult to take down but occasionally there were contractors that did not have as high barriers to reach. They never had the security clearance needed to really use their information, but they were potential bargaining chips, at least until SHIELD decided it would no longer negotiate for prisoners.

"What is it, soldier?" Michael asked as the patroller stopped in front of him with a salute, "Report? You have news from the field?"

"Sir! I think I've found someone we can use against that monster! The one they thawed from ice!"

The patroller was already flipping through the log on his camera to bring up the right files to turn and show Michael. He frowned stiffly as he considered the field agent's pictures. "Captain America," he growled, recognizing the man in the evening suit. He didn't know the woman, she wasn't terribly remarkable. "A SHIELD Agent?"

"That's the thing sir! We identified her earlier as a low-security-level contractor!" the field agent explained excitedly.

Suddenly Michael shared his enthusiasm. "This woman is important to him?"

He took the camera and moved through the pictures himself. "Yes, sir, I uh-it's, here!" he brought up the file on the main frame drive. Michael glanced over at that too. The woman was previously identified as a contractor for SHIELD at an earlier date, however there hadn't been any reason to go after her since she didn't have anything of interest.

She was lowest-level security and wouldn't know anything about SHIELD that wasn't already widely publicized, and they hardly needed to ask her about individual agents state-of-mind; she wasn't even the kind of 'doctor' that could prescribe medication so she wouldn't know if there were any agents on psychological stimulants or depressants. That sort of information could be used; but this woman knew nothing useful, not to them.

Michael looked back at the pictures on the camera. The monster was smiling at the woman, and they both looked genuinely happy together. The corner of Michael's mouth twitched a little. How horrible was it that a monster could look so 'human', and how dare it act like it should be so happy; as though it had a right to.

Again he looked at the woman. She was unremarkable, and she knew nothing useful about SHIELD, but if she was important to the super-human beast then she was now of interest to Striker.

"A man's weakness is always woman, eh?"

"Yes," Michael agreed, "Although, 'that' is not a man."

The field agent nodded quickly, before reviewing the information they had available. "She's a civilian of course, we never tracked down her address, but with her name… she's listed in the phone book."

"Send out a team tonight," Michael ordered, "Then we set a trap for 'Captain America'."

ooOOooOOoo

Author notes:

Ooh! Stuff is happening?! Maybe? … I really would like to know if this is okay; I wasn't sure it made sense about the 'contractor' part of SHIELD personnel. They 'work' for SHIELD but they're not agents, they're contractors.

So like with other businesses where they're paid to do something specific and they may work in the building and with the company employees but in the end they're not really part of them – so they don't have benefits and things. So similarly: bad guys could find a SHIELD contractor just by using their name a phonebook/internet look-up.

Does that make sense? Or does it seem silly?

Please review.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America, the Avengers, or any derivative thereof. I make no monetary gain from this; its creation is solely for entertainment. If others find enjoyment in it as well then my own reward is that perhaps I made someone a little happier today.

This story is dedicated to Sora Starkiller/Xgirl-49. Happy belated birthday!

Summary: Slight-AU. Steve Rogers has only just woken up after being frozen in ice. It's been years and everyone he knew and loved is gone. Still perhaps he can find meaning and happiness in this new time period, but there are other sinister forces at work since the end of the war.

OR

Summary: Slight-AU. Steve Rogers is, understandably, a bit depressed after he was just woken up after being frozen in ice only to find it's been years and everyone he knew and loved is gone. Fury figures he should do something, but Steve won't see a shrink; so psychologist Rachel will have to perform her assessment on the down-low! Oh the hijinks! Also domestic hostile groups & kidnapping!

Smiles in Sorrow

By Karin Daath

Chapter 6

"Tell us! What do you know about SHIELD?!"

The man was rough and burly and his knuckles caught at her jaw, bone grating on bone as he struck and her face flew to the side. Her whole body rocked and her skull shook. The blow nearly knocked her, and the chair she was bound against, to the floor.

A cough, and sputtered, as she shuddered waiting for the next blow sure to come, "I don't know what you're talking about." Rachel gasped, choking against the blood in her mouth.

She still wasn't entirely sure how she got here; to this dark metallic-sounding room. She'd been just outside her home; it felt like only hours ago. There were three of them and she couldn't fight them off. She'd screamed, but it had happened too quickly. She tried to fight back, but she wasn't a warrior; her struggle hadn't lasted long. Pain came and it was all she could do to curl on herself and hope it ended soon.

Now she was here, with a strange man she didn't know asking her about SHIELD. She knew there were certain risks to her job, working with SHIELD and military, but this was outside her scope of capability. The blows came again, a hand striking hard knocking her head back the other direction.

Her neck twisted and her head throbbed in pain as the bones ground together; distantly she wondered if he'd dislocated her jaw. "You lie! We know all about you! We know you work for them! What do you know about SHIELD?!"

She shook and sputtered as new blood dripped down from her nose; maybe that was broken too. This was awful… Fury hadn't really thought things through when he gave her a level 4 security clearance… she had to hold on… as long as possible. But everything hurt, so much. "I, I swear, I have no idea what you're talking-!"

"Enough of your lies SHIELD dog!"

Rachel recoiled, bracing for the next blow.

"Ievans."

A short, curt, commanding tone interrupted as the heavy metal door creaked open and fell shut again. "Commander, Cowyn, sir!"

"It's true. She doesn't know anything; that's not why she's here."

This wasn't about the level 4 security clearance? Relief flooded through her and she bit back a sob; more than grateful that the beating had apparently stopped.

She heard measured footsteps as the new man walked to the brute; Ievans, it sounded like a last name. "Why don't you go clean up? The field officer will explain more if you prefer."

"Yes, sir," The brute made a kind of grunting noise before Rachel heard the metal door swinging again as he left. The other one was still with her and she waited quietly, unsure of what to expect.

The tang of blood in her mouth made her feel sick. Her head still throbbed with pain and she tried to gently work her jaw to assess the damage. She wasn't sure if it was dislocated, but it hurt to move, stinging sharply if she tried to stretch it too wide. Her eyes could still focus on things like shape and color, her head was slowly clearing and the light illuminated the man's shoes and the edge of his dark pants from where she was looking at the floor. No brain damage, probably, that was good.

She ran her tongue over her teeth, none of them appeared broken or chipped; small mercies. Slowly she straightened against the chair to look at the new man who had relieved her tormenter. He was relatively unremarkable in appearance, fair-skinned, dark-hair, and cold eyes; very cold.

There were no more questions and she considered what other reasons she might have been brought here; kidnapped by enemies of SHIELD. It was fortunate they didn't know about her security clearance; if they had known and if that beating had continued she had no idea how she was supposed to hold on. She had no training in this sort of thing, she wasn't an agent; but she wasn't about to give up entirely.

"Thank you," the told the man softly after a moment. His expression didn't change, and she correctly guessed her initial attempts at ingratiation hadn't worked. It wasn't a tactic that was easy to work with; but generally when feeling threatened if they could ask for help or thank or otherwise positively engage the threatening individual, sometimes hostilities could be mitigated.

"Why am I here? You know I don't have anything of value to you." She asked, voice still soft and quiet, not accusing or angry; the two surest things that would guarantee she'd never learn anything.

"It's not what you know," He told her simply, "It's who knows you."

Well that didn't give her very much, she let her confusion show and she tried again, "SHIELD doesn't negotiate for contractors, you know," he didn't respond, "Please, just let me go? You don't want to hurt me for no reason, you know what you're doing is wrong. You may think this is the only way to get what you want, but even if the goal is noble the methods used to get there matter just as much."

"You're a psychologist, correct?" he asked, and she frowned slightly, "I know you're trying to convince me, but it won't work. Sometimes extreme methods are needed, and the goal is noble."

"Ever heard that 'the ends doesn't justify the means'?"

"I've heard it," he nodded, eyes still cold and unmoving, "I also know there are times when the opposite is true as well. You have a point. But so does Striker."

Rachel flinched slightly. She knew that name; many of their top members were on the FBI most wanted list. As far as extremely domestic hostile attacks went Striker was considered one of the worst.

"Do you agree with SHIELD?" he asked her, "What they're doing."

"They're protecting the American people," she repeated from wrote memory, "Just like a 'shield' should."

His mouth twitched in a nasty sort of sneer. "Protection… is that what you call invasive surveillance of the people they're sworn to protect? In restricting the freedoms we once had, they keep us safe. It's wrong; they take away our freedom, they're jailing us, everything that America should stand for is destroyed by SHIELD and all that they stand for."

"You're right." She agreed, totally sincere. He seemed taken aback, ready to start arguing, her acceptance set him off balance. "Of course, the fact that you're right is completely overshadowed by the fact that as 'freedom-fighters' you're using violence and intimidation to get what you want."

She couldn't help herself; the man was a hypocrite, and she lost her opened as the cold glare returned. "There are peaceful ways to do things." She pointed out, cursing herself for letting her own anger at this man's hypocrisy get to her.

"Yes, ways that take too slow," he sneered, "People can get up in arms enough to change things, I'll grant you that it can happen. But the people also lose interest it before they can actually change anything. The process of changing laws and policy is slow; and people are too comfortable as sheep."

Rachel glared back at him. "Then perhaps they deserve to lose their freedom." She told him, "In sacrificing that they are neither safe nor free."

For a moment he seemed taken aback, meeting her gaze evenly, assessing. There was a loud banging knock on the metal door and he turned to address the intrusion, dismissing her without a second glance. "Sir, sorry to interrupt."

"You aren't," the man assured his subordinate. Rachel lowered her head to listen, "What news?"

"We have a working prototype of the serum," the man reported eagerly, "We've run trial runs, it should significantly weaken SHIELD's super-human agents. There is however one caveat, we'll need-"

"Let's take this into the hallway."

The two of them stepped outside and the metal door swung shut behind them. Rachel frowned as the clang resounded and silence was all she heard. A serum to weaken the super-humans of SHIELD? Too bad she didn't know about the required component they needed.

She tested the cuffs chaining her hands to the chair, again she found no weakness, she tried to hop the chair closer to the door, but realized how little that would help since she still couldn't hear through it. There was nothing she could do; not even listen in on Striker's projects. She wondered if Fury was already aware of what Striker was working on.

xxXXxxXXxx

It was okay that Rachel hadn't called, it was even okay that she hadn't been down to the basement. But Steve hadn't seen her all day so far; there was no word at all, she wasn't in the canteen at mealtimes and she wasn't in her office either.

The sinking thought occurred to him that she was avoiding him. But then according to the front desk and security, she hadn't even checked in today. Was she out sick? Or maybe on holiday? Why hadn't she said anything to anyone?

Steve even checked with Maria Hill who seemed… reticent about it. Evasive even before she suggested that he ask Fury about it. Nick Fury of course was more difficult to get ahold of, if only because he kept moving around. The man was hardly ever in his office except the few times that he was.

He'd been forced to check with each division on his schedule, and Fury hadn't been going to them in order, or even in order of how close they were to each other. First he'd gone to weapons development on the third floor and down to the basement to check with the professor on the tesseract and then back up to the fourth floor to see about a minor security breach. Steve eventually caught up to him in the hallway, his only advantage being superior speed to trace Fury's haphazard path through SHIELD's connected buildings.

"Director Fury, sir!"

"Hey, Cap," Fury greeted somewhat dismissively, as though Steve wasn't racing to catch the elevator he was disappearing into. "Fancy seeing you here. I didn't think you had any business in the computations tower."

"I don't," Steve admitted, catching the elevator doors that Fury had been disinclined to stop so as to continue the conversation. He got in and the doors closed again, taking them back to ground floor, "I've been trying to find you, sir."

"Well congratulations, your superior sleuthing has paid off, you found me," Fury started walking the moment the elevator doors dinged open. Fortunately the man was human and Steve didn't have to jog to keep up with his long strides. "What do you want?"

"It's about Rachel Schmidt."

"What about the doctor?"

"Well, she's not in for one thing," Steve frowned; if even Maria seemed to know something how come Fury didn't seem aware?

"Is that so unusual?" Fury gave him a side-long look as if questioning his intelligence.

"By itself, no," Steve confirmed, "But it's not just that she hasn't come in for work. She's not answering her phone, her pager, and according to her apartment building she was seen last night but not this morning and there's no answer at her apartment. It's empty inside."

"You went that far to check up on her?!" Fury asked incredulous, "You know, that's called breaking and entering! There's a fine line between a concerned boyfriend and a crazy stalker!"

Steve flushed. "I knocked on the door and looked through the mail slot. I didn't do anything illegal." He insisted, well aware that without further evidence there was no reason to really be alarmed, but still something felt wrong to him. "She's not there and no one can contact her."

"Well it's hardly been 24 hours yet," Fury shrugged, "I doubt you can file a missing persons report with just that."

Steve frowned, catching the nervous jump of a twitching muscle in Fury's neck. "Are you implying that I'd need to, sir?"

"Well if you're that concerned about it-"

"I think you know where she is, sir."

Fury stopped in the hallway and turned to fix Steve with a tired glare. He met that gaze evenly, not backing down. "Don't you?" Steve said, and it was a less a question and more a statement.

"What makes you think I know anything about-"

"She's a SHIELD contractor," Steve explained easily enough, "More than that, she has some of the highest security clearance of any contractor in the organization; you even have her assessing the movements of Bruce Banner, a high security and top priority case. Is that where she is? Why no one's heard anything?"

Fury's mouth twisted. The man wanted to lie, but for whatever reason decided against it. "No," he told Steve plainly, "And yes, I do know where she is."

"Then what?" Steve shook his head, confused, all but demanding an explanation.

"Rachel Schmidt was kidnapped late last night from outside her home," Fury reported simply, "We believe Striker is responsible."

"What?!" Steve's blood ran cold, how was this even… "But they haven't taken contractors since…?"

"Well something changed for them, didn't it?" Fury snorted, shaking his head. He was walking again; this time towards his office.

"But how did they single her out? Why?" Steve asked, unable to wrap his head around what had changed; Striker wanted to bring down SHIELD sure, but they hadn't been taking contractors for years now according to the files on the organization. "What changed? What purpose could they have?"

"I wonder," Fury sniffed as he fished a file out of one of his cabinets before slapping it open on the desk, facing Steve Rogers. The pale man stared blankly at the images. It was of his date the night before, with Rachel. He could guess that Fury would know about it but what did that have to do with Striker-?

His expression changed to one of horror. "Now you get it." Fury noted, "One of their operatives saw you off-duty; they know who you are, their focus is on SHIELD's super-human threats, right. What do you suppose that looks like, to them?"

Steve sank into one of the chairs opposite Fury's desk. This was his fault. They would never have known about her, never would have even cared; except that he…

"We have to rescue her."

Fury gave him a blank look. "Excuse me?"

"This is my fault," Steve said plainly, deciding on the necessary course of action; there was no question of it, simply something that had to be done. "They would never have taken her if not for me, we have to rescue her."

"We?" Fury repeated giving the Captain a very bland and unamused look, "No. 'We' don't negotiate with terrorists."

Steve looked back at the man incredulous, "You can't be serious. We can't leave her ther-!"

"Even if we were to mount a rescue attempt," Fury told him squarely, "You would not be on that team. You're clearly too involved, not thinking clearly; you'd only be putting yourself in danger."

"I assure you sir, I'm thinking very clearly," Steve told him coolly, "More than I have in a long time."

"Well isn't that dandy," Fury said, just as coldly, "There is no rescue. She's not one of us, and she's not an irreplaceable asset."

Steve gave him a dark look, accusatory. "So that's it then."

"I have to do what's right for SHILED, what's right for the American public." Fury protested, incredulous, "That does not include wasting resources to retrieve a single individual."

"You're right," Steve responded, his jaw set, determined, "You have to do what you think is right. And so do I."

He didn't bother to see if Fury had any further defense or ready retort. Steve turned and left the director's office already thinking of how to obtain the needed information. There was a task force dedicated to compiling information on Striker and intercepting possible communications; that could be a start. Or if Fury knew, chances are Maria Hill would also be aware.

Apparently since Fury returned to his office, Maria wasn't far behind. He caught her in the hall. "Do we know where Striker has Rachel?" he asked without preamble.

She stopped at his question, considering if she should answer before giving a short nod. "We do, it's a smaller bunker outside the city limits," she told him simply, "I can send you the coordinates."

"Thank you."

Come to think of it, Maria was the reason he visited Fury at all. Apparently Steve wasn't the only one whose opinion disagreed with SHIELD's course of non-action against Striker abducting people. Steve received the coordinates shortly and appropriated a vehicle to take on Striker.

xxXXxxXXxx

Maria sent two more short messages after directing Captain America to the bunker they'd located about an hour ago. Widow and Hawkeye would be mobilizing soon after. She got confirmed responses from both of them before she'd even made it into Fury's office.

"So?" the man asked expectant, arching his single visible eyebrow at the brunette woman.

"Captain America is on his way to Striker now with the coordinates supplied," Maria reported briefly, "I've received confirmation that Black Widow and Hawkeye are aware of the situation and will follow discreetly, providing enforcement as needed."

"Good." Fury quipped turning back to the other files in his hands. There were enough projects to keep anyone busy; and he hadn't fully completed his usual rounds to the different departments. Maria frowned at his schedule as she considered the time constraints. This little ruse with the Captain had taken enough of the morning already.

"Sir," Maria interrupted Fury's perusal of the current file, "Since we had no intention of stopping the Captain, and we are in fact sending two of our agents after him anyway… why didn't we just send him with the other two?"

"Because it's his fault."

"Sir?"

"It's the Cap's fault the doc got taken," Fury told her shortly, "They were careless, both of them were careless."

Maria's forehead creased a little; Fury had to know he hadn't answered her question. "It's their responsibility; and we're not sending anyone after the doc – you know our policy about that."

"But sir, we just-!"

"We sent Widow and Hawkeye after the Cap. Not the Doc." Fury stated pointedly. "Big difference as far as our weapons budget and allowable-instances-of-potentially-wasteful-resource-management are concerned. Getting doc back is a bonus, since I'm not sure I like the Cap if no one's holding his leash."

Maria's eyes widened slightly as she made the connection. Of course the doctor was important to Fury's plans concerning Captain America and his improved mental health lately, so this was… a justification for their paperwork that would otherwise end of very smudgy near the end of the year.

As it was they had enough to argue about when they met the corporate leaders in another month. They already had major issues concerning the recruitment of Bruce Banner, "the Hulk", and Tony's joyride spending spree with the R&D department that was hardly justifiable… this would be one less item they'd have to bring up.

"I'm impressed, sir," Maria told him simply, "I didn't know you took such interest in the reports I have to append."

"Oh it's not for you," Fury assured casually; "I don't like talking to the powers-that-be any longer than I have to. I'm far too busy for that."

Maria allowed a rare smile and moved on to the next item on the director's agenda. While several miles away, Captain America was poised to begin an attack on the Striker hideout.

ooOOooOOoo

Author notes:

Don't know if anyone remembers about the serum that was mentioned in chapter 4 but yeah… it's gonna come back… eventually, kinda. It's also going to probably be really easy to guess what it does too.

Please review.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America, the Avengers, or any derivative thereof. I make no monetary gain from this; its creation is solely for entertainment. If others find enjoyment in it as well then my own reward is that perhaps I made someone a little happier today.

This story is dedicated to Sora Starkiller/Xgirl-49. Happy belated birthday!

Summary: Slight-AU. Steve Rogers has only just woken up after being frozen in ice. It's been years and everyone he knew and loved is gone. Still perhaps he can find meaning and happiness in this new time period, but there are other sinister forces at work since the end of the war.

OR

Summary: Slight-AU. Steve Rogers is, understandably, a bit depressed after he was just woken up after being frozen in ice only to find it's been years and everyone he knew and loved is gone. Fury figures he should do something, but Steve won't see a shrink; so psychologist Rachel will have to perform her assessment on the down-low! Oh the hijinks! Also domestic hostile groups & kidnapping!

Smiles in Sorrow

By Karin Daath

Chapter 7

A punch. A kick. A fired gunshot, and a weave and dodge. The bullet hit the wall. Another Striker operative hit the floor as Captain America pressed on down the halls of the bunker base. The alarm had already sounded and Steve caught the last of the latest attack wave, still conscious, for questioning.

"Where is she? The woman you took, I know she's here so where?!"

But this one, like the others, refused to answer. Still struggling and lashing out; reaching for another weapon. Steve shook the man, halting his movements with the sharp action slamming him back against the wall. "Where is she?!" he repeated, growing more desperate. He trusted the information he'd received; if SHIELD said Rachel was here, then she probably was. But he hadn't found her yet.

The next wave of soldiers had arrived, only four of them this time. Bullets fired overhead, Steve released the man and dodged to the side, using his shield for cover. The other Striker operative had barely reached his feet; he was gunned down by friendly fire.

The Captain threw himself back against his adversaries. Knocking the weapons away and sending the men spiraling to the ground; catching the final fourth one to repeat his questions. Eventually he did get an answer.

"End of the hall! The interrogation room!"

He knew he had to move quickly. This time he had no back up. He'd spent too much time, just trying to find her; but now he knew where.

There were less attacks from this direction; and for a moment he thought he might reach the end of the hall without incident. He could retrieve Rachel and escape within the hour. He stopped as he reached the halfway point. He could see the locked metal door at the end of the hall; but someone was blocking his way.

He was a normal looking man of average height, nothing terribly unusual though his features were more stern and sharp-looking than most.

"Captain America," the man greeted coolly, apparently having expected him, "I see you got our message."

The soldier frowned, uncomprehending. "I didn't get any message. I came for the civilian you took."

Stern solid features creased in slight confusion before smoothing again. "SHIELD didn't pass it along… strange that they sent you anyway, knowing you were the one we wanted."

"No one sent me," the captain corrected him.

The man considered that then nodded. "No matter; you were our intended target, in any case. The girl was only bait."

"Then let her go."

A laugh; "That would be inconvenient at the moment."

"What do you want with me?" the captain questioned instead; strangely the man was very collected and appeared to hold some position of authority in Striker, or at least this base. But he didn't recognize this man from SHIELD's list of noted leaders. "Who are you?"

"I am Michael Cowyn," the man introduced himself, his hands turning palms up, as though an act of surrender, "And you can't hope to stop us."

Something sharp, and metal, bit into his neck. The Captain cried out in shock. Something had punctured beneath the hood of his suit into the flesh. His hand flew to the wound, and his body turned. The metal weapon; a needle he realizes as he turned, had already been withdrawn and the Striker operative who had struck him backed away quickly with a look of triumph.

"We did it!" came the new man's shocked cry. There was the stain of red blood on the glinting needle and syringe the operative carried. The Captain scowled as he faced the new wave of Striker soldiers lined up on the hall behind him. Turning back to Michael the man only smirked at the captain with cold steely eyes.

If they drugged him with something it didn't work; he didn't feel weak or woozy at all. A cry came from the back of the group of soldiers; something from behind them was working toward the front. "Sir?!" the man with the needle cried at Michael, uncertain.

"We have what we want; get out!"

There was a side door to the hallway that the man called Michael vanished down. The soldiers covered the man with the needle too as a group of them accompanied them through the doors. As the attack squad thinned, the captain could see the two people fighting through from the other side.

"Widow? Hawkeye?" he questioned, hardly believing his own eyes; his teammates surely hadn't received any mission about this base that he didn't know about. "What are you doing here?"

"I can tell you what we're not doing," Widow frowned, dropping the last of the line who had not disappeared down the side paths, "Saving you out of a sense of comradery."

Hawkeye was checking out the door most of the group had fled down. Apparently he decided they weren't coming back to cause issue, and that he wasn't going to pursue. He turned back to the captain with a simple question, "Have you located the doctor, yet?"

xxXXxxXXxx

Rachel could still taste the fading metallic tang of blood in her mouth. The man from before hadn't come back, and neither had anyone else. She knew she was dehydrated, and too tired to hardly think. She hadn't been able to sleep, tied upright. Every time she sagged the metal cuffs dug deeper into her skin, exacerbating the bruises she'd given herself earlier.

Thinking about it she supposed this was a kind of method of torture; or breaking someone. She couldn't even figure out what that siren-sounding had been a while ago. For the most part this room was thickly padded and she could hardly hear anything going on outside.

Even if a small bomb went off outside the heavy door she didn't know if she'd hear so much as a dull bang. Things had been deathly silent for a while now, except for her breathing and the scuff of her shoes against the concrete floor, trying to keep her legs from falling asleep.

Then she heard the locking mechanism turn over. The door clanged heavily as it was wrenched open. She wasn't sure who to expect this time, if anyone could be expected. The dim room was flooded with light. She couldn't see anything.

"Rachel!"

She knew that voice. "Steve?"

Never had she been so relieved, or happy, to see him. Though the light framed three figures in the doorway, all she saw was Steve as he rushed inside the room, toward her. When color began to return, the planes of his face, the soft gold and brown of his hair, and the sharp blue of his eyes were all she saw. "Hang on, we're getting you out."

Relief flooded through her like a warm balm at his words. His hands tore through the metal cuffs around her wrists, snapping them as though they were no more than brittle plastic. "Can you stand?" his hand moved to her arm to steady her as she made to stand for the first time in several hours.

Rachel stood upright and then the room turned and toppled around her as her muscles failed her. Apparently she hadn't been doing such a good job of keeping her legs from falling asleep. "Rachel!" Steve caught her. The last thing on her mind should have been how warm and strong he felt or how safe she felt with his arms around her.

"They hurt you." The pained look on his face as he realized this in the dim light of the holding cell cut her like a knife. She shook her head quickly.

"Are you dizzy?" Hawkeye asked stepping toward them; Rachel had almost forgotten he and Widow were behind Steve; "Did they dose you with something?"

"No, not dizzy, just a light case of paresthesia," she explained quickly, clinically; there was no reason to worry over something small like this.

"Para-what?" Steve sounded confused. She nearly laughed at his puzzled expression and settled for a sheepish smile.

"My legs are asleep."

Widow made a sharp sound of disinterest, "We need to move," she told them curtly, "Just because they backed out for now doesn't mean they won't double back."

"Agreed." Steve hadn't released her yet. Even if her legs were feeling less like pins and needles Rachel was still rather reluctant to leave the warm safety of his embrace. Apparently he had no intention of letting her walk out of there, regardless.

In a quick movement, Steve cradled her body backwards, sweeping her legs out from under her. To her credit Rachel managed not to squeak or squeal at her sudden lift. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd been carried bridal style. Then the three of them were moving.

Hawkeye and Widow moved ahead at the front to make sure of a clear path to the exit. There were a few stragglers, Striker gunmen, in the outer hallways. The two SHIELD agents made quick work of any opponents and they surged ahead. The group made it to the outside within minutes.

"I'll drive," Hawkeye said, snatching the van keys from Widow as they shot through the wooded area toward their vehicle. She redheaded woman shot him an unimpressed look.

"Fine." She agreed, opening the back for Steve and Rachel before taking up the communications console once they reached the SHIELD van. The moment that all doors swung shut, Hawkeye was already tearing off down the road.

They hadn't seen any Striker operatives since they left the base, but Hawkeye habitually checked rear mirror and the installed back-cameras to make sure. They didn't have overhead detection; which could be an oversight if they knew Striker had any aircraft in the area. Widow confirmed from her previous recon that they didn't.

Still he was uneasy. To make him feel better, she stuck her head out the window to check overhead anyway. There was nothing, and she gave him a knowing smirk that he'd learned to ignore over the years. She brushed back her red hair to refit the communications ear-link.

"Hill, this is Widow, objective accomplished," she reported, succinct as usual. "The captain and the doctor are on board; we are on route for HQ."

"Roger that," Hill's voice estimated their time of arrival and the docking zone for the SHIELD vehicle and debriefing. Silence was more common that speaking when Widow went on missions with Hawkeye. It was something that was comfortable between them. This ride, however, was not as quiet as she would have liked.

"It's not just your legs, they did hurt you."

His mournful voice was annoying.

"No, really, I'm fine. Considering everything, I'm doing just great, really."

Her carefully upbeat assurances were also annoying.

"We need to get you looked at, your nose could be broken."

Widow felt a muscle in her forehead twitch. At least she could do something to make them shut up; she reached for the first-aid kit under the dash and tossed it over her shoulder. "Use that," Widow instructed, "She can get checked by medical staff after debrief."

The sooner they stopped whining at each other the better!

"Thank you," Steve quietly thanked Widow, her annoyance apparent in her tone of voice. Still, at least he hadn't asked how or why she and Hawkeye had showed up to help. He could guess, since she was just reporting to Maria Hill, that she'd been worried and sent them after him just in case; or something similar. Maybe it had been an inconvenience to them; well he wasn't going to be sorry about that, not since they'd managed to save Rachel.

Rachel… with blood crusted under her nose and a dark bruise purpling under her jaw, with eyes still bright and giving reassurances, to him; when it was his fault this happened. "Stay still, okay?" it came out as a question instead of an instruction when he moved the antiseptic swab to the path of blood. Still she stayed still, tilting her head back slightly so he could see better.

He could clean up the blood, but the bruises and the tender skin when she flinched away weren't anything he could help heal. "This is all my fault."

"No," Rachel told him sharply, as though the statement was completely absurd, "This is not your fault. Striker did this; you are not responsible for the actions of a group of fanatical extremists."

It was almost cute how she seemed to believe that absolutely. But she was wrong, and he just felt guiltier about it. Fury had said they'd captured her; he had no idea they were going to torture her; and they'd had her hours, nearly an entire day before he even learned about it.

There were the bruises on her face, and even her wrists. As fierce as she could sound and as strong a conviction as she had, she was still terribly fragile. He had to tell her the truth. "They targeted you because they saw us together," he admitted.

"Oh," her brow creased a little considering, her bright eyes flicking away from his. He looked down as well. He wanted to say more, but there wasn't anything he could. Their target was me, so they took you, and they hurt you. I'm sorry. This is my fault, and I don't know how to make it right.

"When I took this job, as a contractor for SHIELD, I knew there were certain risks," she started slowly. He frowned. No, she shouldn't have to rationalize something like this; not when the blame was so clearly his. "If it wasn't you they saw me with, maybe it would be director Fury, or someone else; it's a risk I was already aware of. It happens. It's not your fault."

"No, not this time," Steve sighed heavily. "If you hadn't been targeted before now, then you probably wouldn't be. It was because I had to take you somewhere public; and I'm recognized, I don't have a 'secret identity'. They wouldn't have targeted you if not for me."

"That's why I'm telling you its fine," she said, voice harder now in response to his exasperation, "This is not your-!"

"No, it's not fine!" Steve insisted, cutting her off, "It can never be fine, because I love you! I want to be with you and I can't let you get hurt because of that!"

Any retaliating argument that Rachel had been considering left her head in an instant as her face suddenly caught fire, a red flush spreading over her face with an expression of embarrassment and something not unlike giddiness.

A moment later it seemed to dawn on him that he had just admitted something he probably hadn't intended and the same hot flush began to scrawl over his face and neck as he leaned back and looked away quickly.

She'd been marshalling her arguments for why Steve couldn't blame himself for something like this when… he effectively found a way to make her shut her mouth. Her whole body felt warm, not just her face which was now unbearable hot as she stared back at him.

He cleared his throat, still avoiding eye contact. "Th-that didn't quite come out like I…" he shook his head and risked looking back at her. "You don't…" He didn't finish the question and his eyes lowered again, his posture shifting uneasily, as though unsure how he fit into the space before now.

Rachel's head swam, every previous thought and considering blown from her mind. Steve liked her. No, he said he 'loved' her. But he was… Captain America, and her patient, and so very cute, and adorable, and handsome, and muscly, and he saved her, and he was sweet and kind and wonderful, and she felt so very very happy!

For some reason guilt was the only thing that stopped a gleeful smile from spreading over her face. To be honest, reeling back feelings of high-school-girl-giddiness, she had to consider this seriously. She probably felt the same. But he was also her patient. She'd been lying to him about why they had even started their tentative 'friendship'.

As time dragged on she realized her silence was contributing to the painful crease of his brow. She reached out to him quickly, or she meant to, somehow her hand very tentatively reached forward, and her eyes dropped to where her fingers curled over the back of his palm. He didn't move away and she squeezed his hand gently.

"I-I don't know."

She didn't have an answer. Not yet. She needed to think. Very badly, and preferably when her hand was less crowded with a ton of pink cotton candy that just screamed I-like-you-too-Steve over and over.

In the front seat, Hawkeyes was doing a remarkable job of not snickering or bursting into laughter. The Russian woman only saw it in the shallow exhale of breath and the tug at the corner of his mouth. Widow wondering if the two in the back even realized their conversation wasn't really private. It was like listening to a badly scripted soap opera.

Widow just rolled her eyes and directed a dark look at the road in front of them. They couldn't reach SHIELD headquarters fast enough in her opinion.

xxXXxxXXxx

"I can't continue this case."

Fury gave her a quizzical look over the debrief table. "Excuse me?"

"The case regarding Steve Rogers, Captain America," Rachel clarified, sullen, "I can't in good conscience continue to assess his case."

"And why is that?" Fury discarded the Striker notes he'd been working from.

The debrief room was similar to some of the others SHIELD used, it was clean and bright, the walls were painted a beige white and the floors were clean pristine tile; probably waxed the day before. Everything about SHIELD was clean, proficient, clinical and effective. She needed to be the same in her work capacity.

"The level of professional and personal conduct has blurred," she informed the director, "Given a certain level of intimacy I do not think I am best qualified to continue his assessment."

"Intimacy?" Fury repeated, scoffing at the word, "This is SHIELD. We're your other family, basically. Lines are always blurred."

Rachel smiled tightly, she couldn't really do more than that or the cut on her lip might start bleeding again. She really needed this debrief to be over so she could go take a shower as soon as possible. "No, this is different, it-"

"It just means you really haven't done your job properly," Fury told her, interrupting here with a raised voice and severe look.

"Sir?"

"Hasn't it occurred to you?" Fury asked her, baiting with his condescension, "You're basically the only girl he's been interacting with."

Oh, so Widow or Hawkeye, or both of them, had already told him… wait.

Rachel's eyes widened as she considered his words. The only girl Steve had been… any of the remaining giddiness and excitement still singing through her blood turned to ice. It made sense. It was so obvious. If she'd been able to think about it clearly it made perfect sense.

She'd been so blinded by her own feelings she hadn't even stopped to consider… "This is why I am emotionally compromised," Rachel said slowly, her voice cracking oddly, "I cannot continue his assessment."

"Oh, get over yourself, Doc," Fury told her, rolling his eyes, impatient. "He doesn't actually like you. You probably don't actually like him; he did save you, you were under duress, it's a normal thing to-"

"Don't presume to tell me how I feel." Rachel told him, perhaps more sharply than should have been warranted to use on her superior.

"Fine," Fury amended, "Still, it would be detrimental to switch users on him now. I think your next objective is clear though. You need to socialize him, and then any of this 'emotional compromise' business should just 'go away'."

It was absurd to think that less than a few hours ago she'd been so elated. She really hadn't been doing her job. But she was back on task now. That was a good thing.

So why did it feel like the earth had shattered under her feet?

ooOOooOOoo

Author notes:

So… what did everyone think of the confession? Was it too sappy? Too much? Too little? And then: Oh the angst! … The kinda-sorta-there-angst anyway. Isn't it lovely?

Please review.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America, the Avengers, or any derivative thereof. I make no monetary gain from this; its creation is solely for entertainment. If others find enjoyment in it as well then my own reward is that perhaps I made someone a little happier today.

This story is dedicated to Sora Starkiller/Xgirl-49. Happy belated-and-ongoing birthday!

Summary: Slight-AU. Steve Rogers is, understandably, a bit depressed after he was just woken up after being frozen in ice only to find it's been years and everyone he knew and loved is gone. Fury figures he should do something, but Steve won't see a shrink; so psychologist Rachel will have to perform her assessment on the down-low! Oh the hijinks! Also domestic hostile groups & kidnapping!

Smile in Sorrow

By Karin Daath

Chapter 8

Her wounds were healing, but that didn't mean Steve didn't feel a sharp pang of guilt every time he saw them. It was his fault. All he'd meant to say was how important she was to him, and that he didn't want to be the one causing her to get hurt.

Instead he'd ending up admitting something… probably too forward. It was something he shouldn't have said, even if it was how he felt. Ideally they should have gone on a lot more dates. He should have brought her back to meet his folks; not that they were around anymore, but he could have been invited on a weekend to meet her family, she'd only ever talked about them in passing.

But in a way it almost felt like they'd been on more than just the one date. They'd been meeting up and talking at length for months now; he felt like he knew her, and he knew his feelings well enough. Still that hadn't been the best time to say anything. He knew he couldn't realistically expect a response in the back of that van. They'd still been fleeing a place where shortly before there had been bodies and gunfire.

He still felt awful about that. Oddly enough, he was still hopeful. Even according to the doctors Rachel's wounds had been largely superficial; she looked a lot better. There was still a light violet tinge to the skin near her jaw where the last of her bruises was recovering. The real reason Steve was hopeful was that Rachel hadn't said 'no'.

She said she didn't know. Steve knew she liked him well enough, they were certainly friends if nothing else; and she had agreed to the date. It was a paradox that he wanted her safe, but he also wanted to be with her, which would make her a target for anyone coming after him. It wasn't an easy decision, or maybe it was, but he couldn't give up without trying.

If she didn't want to, if she wanted to stay safe then she probably shouldn't choose him. But if she did, then he was willing to keep going after her, to keep her safe, and to stay with her. The only thing that dashed at that hope, was the smile followed by an uneasy expression whenever she saw him these days.

xxXXxxXXxx

"So?"

She couldn't answer him. It wasn't even a matter of 'yet' anymore. She couldn't, in good conscience, answer him.

"How was your break?"

Oh good. So that wasn't what he was asking about.

"You look better."

His smile was heartbreaking. She wanted to return it so badly; but she had no idea how to proceed. Not really.

"It was good," she managed a small grin, "I'm feeling better too. Obviously my legs are working fine." She laughed and hoped it didn't sound forced.

She already knew suggesting they 'see other people' right off at the start would be the wrong tactic. She had to ease into things somehow. "About before… what you said…"

His expression shuddered, withdrawn, waiting. "You don't have to answer now," he told her carefully, "If you still need time-"

She had to start with the truth.

"The thing is I'm kinda of uncomfortable since, it feels like I'd be taking advantage of you." She at least managed part of the truth. Given Fury's little revelation about things, she knew it would be the case if she did something so unethical as accepting his confession.

His bark of laughter startled her. "You, taking advantage of me?" he repeated, grinning unabashed now into his hand; as though she was being completely silly.

Rachel startled and looked around quickly. A few people looked up but then dismissed it. Seeing Steve and Rachel talking together in the canteen was a common sight these days, and the quiet hum of activity as others ate their lunches was enough to drown out most things.

"I'm serious!"

"How did that even cross your mind?" Steve asked, somehow amused as he looked at her; taking undue entertainment at her discomfiture.

"I hadn't really thought about it before but, haven't you noticed I'm the only woman you've interacted with since you got back?" Rachel hissed back at him, willing him to take this issue seriously. How was it both Fury and her realized the gravity of this but Steve hadn't even bothered to consider it?!

"I've interacted with other women," Steve insisted, scoffing at her statement, "I talk with Maria, Natasha, Melanie-!"

"I don't mean people you work with, I meant-!" Rachel started exasperated before one of those names didn't register. Maria Hill, Natasha Romanov, and… "Wait, who's Melanie?"

Steve just laughed at her, grinning an absurd amount as he leaned forward as though about to impart some great secret. "Melanie works at the canteen," he turned to look back and wave at the coffee bar, there was a cute brunette filling a latte. When she saw Steve she waved back with a quick grin before going back to her work. "She's actually the one who suggested that restaurant we went to."

"Oh." Rachel said; a little less distressed. Although why she would be distressed if Steve did find someone else… no she knew why; it was just terribly unprofessional of her.

For starters the whole basis of this 'relationship', even if it were merely friendship, was lies. She had a job to do, and apparently she'd managed to screw that up somehow. She'd always thought her job was the one thing she always did best of anything, but she didn't even have that anymore.

"Rachel-"

"I just don't think you should rush into anything when you've basically just started to become accustomed to being here and now," she told him, still not quite able to meet his eyes and unwilling to be persuaded to her baser feelings when there was a lead weight called guilt sitting in her gut.

Steve sighed, obviously exasperated; but apparently they'd reached in impasse. "If it'll convince you, I'll get out more and talk to more people." It was a kind of concession. There was an unspoken 'but' hanging there, though he said no more. Rachel tried to smile.

"That would be good." She nodded. If he had more time, it was probably just like Fury said; he'd move on to someone else. He'd ground himself with new friends and relationships; any crutch she had been to him would no longer be necessary. Any false feelings of attachment would disappear as well.

Their order number came up on the line. Steve excused himself to go pick it up. Most of the canteen staff was female. Rachel hadn't really noticed how many of them were newer, younger, pretty girls with easy smiles and striking features.

Steve was smiling back when he went to get the order. They were just talking, exchanging pleasantries. It was normal. It was perfectly normal if he were pick up a normal pretty girl. She at least had no ulterior motive. Rachel frowned and looked back at the tabletop with a sharp sigh. He wasn't flirting, she reminded herself. Probably the girl at the counter wasn't either.

This was necessary. So how come everything since that moment, when she'd been so stupidly happy, just made her feel worse and worse?

xxXXxxXXxx

"This is just painful to watch."

Hawkeye didn't say anything in response, but Widow hadn't expected him to say anything either. "Someone should just tell him the truth." She was talking about the Captain. "She should be the one to tell him." She was talking about the doctor.

"She won't." Hawkeye finally spoke. The redhead glanced back at him. The two of them were waiting on prep vehicles for a reconnaissance; stopping to grab some food had been Hawkeye's idea. People-watching had been Widow's; she hadn't realized the bad soap opera was still in progress.

She didn't understand what was so difficult about it. "It's completely ridiculous." At least Hawkeye seemed to agree with her on that.

It was stupid. Something was going to give, at some point. Maybe that stupid balancing act needed a good shove to tip over.

xxXXxxXXxx

Time passes.

xxXXxxXXxx

It had been weeks.

"Have we met the deadline yet?"

He'd been patient, he'd been outgoing; and it had hurt. She'd wondered at different times when she'd seen him, if he'd found someone new. If they thought he was just as charming and wonderful as she did. If he thought they were pretty and kind and he liked them better.

She had worried about it. And she had also worried about it, if he hadn't found someone. It was paradoxical, and it made her head and heart ache with it.

But somehow, apparently nothing had changed. "We didn't really set a deadline did we?" Rachel wondered, dodging the question. He just had to ambush her in her office. She was currently making a show of shuffling papers around, like she was getting ready to go somewhere.

She had to hide Steve's file too when he came in unannounced; she had been awfully remiss in documenting their past conversations, and while she understood her reluctance it meant she was doing a bad job of keeping her notes in order.

"So when is enough, enough?" he asked pointedly, "You need a list of the women I've talked to in the past couple weeks? There are at least four I know outside of SHIELD now-"

"No, that's fine," she meant to sound friendly and off-hand, but it came out clipped; slightly annoyed. She didn't want to hear about the women he met, or why he was still so concerned with her; in a way it also made her feel special and wanted; and she had to quash that horribly selfish feeling.

She shooed him out of her office and shut the door behind her as she started walking, if nothing else she could lose him at Fury's office. "I get that you're scared," he fell into step beside her, "What I don't get is why you're not scared of my enemies, my age, or my lack of knowledge, but rather that I might not feel the same later on."

She was cracking. "How can you know?" she asked, stopping short to face him, this time she could look him in the eye; she didn't take to being called a coward; but that was what it felt like. It had been this long… maybe Fury was wrong… maybe she was wrong too. "How can you be sure you'll feel the same way another month from now? What about a year from now?"

"I don't know."

Not the assurance she was looking for.

"But I think I will," he went on, "I want to build on this, and that's what a relationship is. You take a chance. You see where it goes."

She sighed and her shoulders slumped. She wanted that too. She could take a chance, see where things went. Even if she got hurt; it wouldn't be the first time she got dumped. He'd taken their time-out period with remarkably good grace; if she considered his relations and relative reluctance toward interaction he'd improved since they first started talking by leaps and bounds.

So what was holding her back? Guilt. This was based on a lie. But it wasn't really, not anymore; she did like him. Maybe she even lov-… no she'd consider that later. She was happy when she was with him, right? So what… she couldn't tell him, and she couldn't keep doing her job like this.

Maybe she could just 'stop'. Fury didn't seem to care that her notes were largely incomplete, and she could still report… as a 'friend' would. Maybe she could do this. Maybe everything that started this could just be swept neatly under the rug and forgotten until it turned to meaningless ash and dust.

She had to take a chance. She was willing to do that.

"Now who's scared of the world and taking risks?" he was smiling, and she was grasping at straws. The irony wasn't lost on her either.

"You don't even really know me," it was barely an arguing point.

"Sure I do," he told her, "I know you prefer coffee over any other caffeinated drink including orange soda which is the only one you'll drink over other cola products. I know you work late nights and sometimes start from early morning, and half of your work usually means research or reading case files compared with talking to your patients; though you generally prefer the latter. And your favorite color is aqua green."

Aqua-! She had nothing to say to that. Was it a lucky guess? Most people's favorite color was blue, if it wasn't black or red. "How did you know that?"

She shrugged, still grinning; he seemed way too satisfied about her stunned reaction. "It's the color you wear most often." He pointed out. She hadn't really considered it but glancing down, her blouse today was also a pale minty aqua-green. Was something so small really so obvious?

"Again, that's what a relationship is, right?" he shrugged it off, "People like one another, so it's normal to learn more about each other."

Now it was 'like', not 'love'? She had to smile at that. When did he become such an expert? According to his case file he had relatively few romantic experiences. Shocking considering how great he was. She should have guessed he had a romantic streak.

"I want to know more about you, and I want you to know more about me," He stated, "I'm not really a cold fish who refuses to go out and try new things."

She laughed, "I already knew that." She told him. She hadn't really thought too much one way or another about how narrow these hallways could be. There wasn't much traffic at the moment, but they were blocking the hall, and facing each other meant they were standing awfully close.

If she reached out a little, her hand could brush against his. When she did, his hand turned towards hers and their palms slid together. His grip was warm, sure, and straightforward; just like him. Her face felt hot and she hoped she hadn't gone too pink.

It was a risk. But it was one she wanted to take, more than anything.

"Alright, I think you've made your point."

"So," he prodded, "What does that mean?"

"It means, I'll go out with you," she said grinning up at him. His fingers tightened and she loved the way his eyes lit up; she might just have to change her favorite color to blue, his eyes were just like the sky, limitless and free. He had that uncanny way of making her feel that everything was alright.

"About time."

She laughed a little, there was no way he'd been this certain before; but he really had come a long way. He was better at understanding things than she'd first realized. "When did you get all insightful and start doing my job for me?"

He laughed with her, his eyes dodging sideways, something like embarrassment creeping into his expression again. Everything seemed rosy; she hadn't thought she'd been leaning towards him but their faces were awfully close. She almost felt she should give him a warning; she was definitely about to do something forward and awful.

Rachel leaned in when she tilted her head, and moved the short distance to reach him. The first time she'd done this, it had been short, chaste, but electric. This time, he met her halfway; and she moaned, happy and startled, when he moved against her, responding, eager and elated.

She didn't know how much experience he had with this, but it crossed her mind he was very good at it, or maybe it was his enthusiasm. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought he'd been asking for it.

xxXXxxXXxx

"This is just sickening."

It was like everywhere she went the bad soap opera was just progressing at its fantastically stupid snail pace of idiocy. Hawkeye shrugged; apparently it didn't bother him as much as it did her. "I've had it."

"What are you doing?" Hawkeye asked her as Widow stalked off toward the doctor's office. He had a bad feeling about this. Maybe he should have stopped her.

"They'll thank me later."

The doctor had apparently been rummaging in here earlier, her notes were haphazard over the desk in varying piles. She found Captain America's note file at the bottom of one-such hastily piled stack. She grabbed it and started back down the hall, headed right for the two idiots.

The pair of lovebirds were standing too close and whispering something like stupid sappy things to each other. "Excuse me." Widow said loudly as she approached.

It was somewhat satisfying as the two of them shot away from each other, both backing toward the wall. Widow was sure to hold the file so the label faced their direction. There was no way they could miss it.

Rachel stared, the idiotic blush draining from her face as she went pale, staring at Widow and the file in her hand. Steve was looking too, apparently confused. "I'm taking this so Fury can read your latest update on the Captain's progress."

"Wait," Steve called her back, and Widow turned unusually acquiescent, "She doesn't have a file on me, Fury didn't order a psychiatric evaluation. I hardly need one."

"Really?" Widow dismissed as she checked the first page of the file in her hands, "Says here it was ordered to perform an assessment under covert conditions. You know what that means, right?" For some reason the two expressions she was faced with were oddly blank.

"Dr. Schmidt performs assessments regardless of if the subject is even located at headquarters often-times. Fury has her report on individuals and her interactions regardless of whether they give consent. It's a necessary part of being cleared for duty. How else do you think you got on the Striker missions?"

The lack of reaction was oddly unsatisfying. Maybe they'd weather this more easily than she'd expected. They'd probably just proclaim how it didn't matter in the face of their true-love. She could almost taste the vomit. With an irritated sigh she took off, continuing down the hall. Fury didn't really need the file, but she could flip through it she supposed. Maybe the idiot doctor had been writing hearts next to his name. On second thought she didn't need to see that.

It seemed the silly soap opera would just have to go on. Good for them, everything was just peaches and roses, wasn't it?

She couldn't know that those blank faces she'd seen were merely the masks set in place for a person whose mind has temporarily been shut down. The world had been turned and shattered and spontaneously slashed back together.

The result was jarring and dissonant, like the echo of some cacophonous sound still resonating in the silence. There were no more words between them, no smiles, no laughter. What could be said? Rachel stood completely frozen.

She didn't know if she should face him. If she should say something… she could apologize, or explain, or … it was all over. In a few moments it seemed like everything had ended.

Any guilt she'd felt from before that had sat as a lead weight had suddenly expanded to consume her. Her whole body felt heavy, oddly pulverized and squashed. If she didn't know her heart was still beating she'd have sworn it had stopped and shriveled and died.

How was Steve taking this. How did he feel? Could she still fix this? If she explained, would it just sound like excuses? If he hated her now… and how could he not? How could she fix this?

She felt dead inside. Or at least she wished she was when she saw the look on Steve's face.

ooOOooOOoo

Author notes:

I was originally going to draw out the 'Steve needs to interact with other girls more' part out longer, but at this point Rachel's already aware of how she feels about him, and more importantly there's a bigger 'angst' hurdle to get to – and here it is! Don't think badly of Widow… she actually _is_ helping; she's just… very back-handed about it. Hopefully she's still okay… I really do like Natasha… and Hawkeye… if it wasn't completely obvious already.

Please review.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America, the Avengers, or any derivative thereof. I make no monetary gain from this; its creation is solely for entertainment. If others find enjoyment in it as well then my own reward is that perhaps I made someone a little happier today.

This story is dedicated to Sora Starkiller/Xgirl-49. Happy belated-and-overly-long-ongoing birthday!

Summary: Slight-AU. Steve Rogers is, understandably, a bit depressed after he was just woken up after being frozen in ice only to find it's been years and everyone he knew and loved is gone. Fury figures he should do something, but Steve won't see a shrink; so psychologist Rachel will have to perform her assessment on the down-low! Oh the hijinks! Also domestic hostile groups & kidnapping!

Smile in Sorrow

By Karin Daath

Chapter 9

He felt dead inside.

He should have known. At the time, maybe he'd wanted her to deny it, but he knew. Her guilty expression was plain enough. He'd seen that look before, and dismissed it so easily; he only saw what he wanted to see, he should have known.

There were several times when he should have caught on. Meeting Peggy and Howard's son, he'd learned her profession, he'd ignored her stiffened posture and guilty face then. He should have seen it, should have recognized it.

Even just days ago, she looked guilty again. She was trying to convince him not to choose her so easily. He ignored her. She was basically telling him she couldn't. He didn't understand why. Now he did. He had been completely blind.

Had Fury given her the 'okay'? Was that why she suddenly broke down and accepted him? He knew now it was the reason she'd started talking to him. Concern or friendliness? Those easy smile and probing questions. He should have guessed. Now he knew. It was all fake.

Knowing didn't make it any easier.

Another sandbag burst apart under a rain of quick precision strikes. He was hardly thinking about practice. The movement was supposed to distract him. It didn't, but it did seem to help dull his senses. The basement was empty today, except for him as usual. Those metal doors wouldn't open. Even if they did, would it admit a slight brunette with a round face? Would she be smiling? If she was, he couldn't accept that. Even if she did come, he couldn't accept it either.

She'd been digging at him from the start. Only now did he realize that rather than helping to heal old wounds, she'd dug in the knife, let it heal around, and then ripped it right back out. He retrieved another sandbag from the stockpile in the storage area. The metal clanged loudly in the relative quiet, and he started the motions again.

He was tired, and raw; but at least the movement helped with something. His thoughts dulled to a quiet hum, over and over again; he should have known. Eventually the stinging burn and ache would fade as well.

xxXXxxXXxx

"What in the hell were you thinking?!"

Widow scowled and resisted the urge to scoff or sigh or roll her eyes. Fury had his reasons to be upset, she supposed. She just didn't understand how that was really her fault. The doctor should have come clean a long time ago if they expected anything to come from this 'patch up the captain' or 'let's be in lovey-dove-love' stupidity.

"Do you have any idea the kind of set-back this is?!" Fury demanded, "The Cap is back in the basement now! He hasn't surfaced in days! I didn't even bother asking him up for the mission two days ago! This isn't some 'funk', and it's not that easy to heal 'mental issues'!"

So now he had mental issues? Well, yes, they all knew that.

"It's part of the reason I didn't yank the Doc when Cap started developing his emotional crap!"

Widow nearly did roll her eyes. If it wasn't her, it would have been some other inanely stupid thing that happened between those two. So how much worse would it have been if it happened after those two had been dating for months? The Captain might have even gone back into a coma if that happened. For some reason that thought amused her.

"Do you think this is funny?!" Fury demanded, apparently catching the amused glint to her eyes, regardless of her, well actually she hadn't been trying that hard to hold it back. At least she'd kept herself from laughing. After a moment of pointed silence as Fury fumed, she realized he expected a response.

"No, sir," She replied easily.

"Well you must find something about this amusing!" Fury accused, not letting her off so easily, "Is it my blood pressure? Is it the fact that after potentially gaining an important asset for this organization you've sent him back to square one?!"

Square one would mean putting him back on ice for another 70 years. This time she didn't stay silent. "Maybe it is." She admitted, meeting his eye evenly.

That stopped him mid-shout, "Excuse you?"

"So what if the Captain's relapsed into his 'loner thing'?" she asked pointedly, part of her irritation showing, "He got attached to the doctor. Their association wasn't going to be broken by either party, and certainly not you. She's not good at hiding things."

"She's done well enough so far!"

"And there have been times when the captain has been too blind to notice her slip-ups." Widow accused, ready to point out instances of observation if Fury decided to contradict her. His mouth worked but he didn't refute her statement; he knew. "He wouldn't have kept being blind, and she would have gotten increasingly careless. He would have found out eventually, and by then it would have been even worse."

Fury scowled. "And it didn't even cross your mind to try and consult with me on this? Or make the transition easier for him?"

Widow did roll her eyes this time. "Yes, because the captain and his fragile mind are just so delicate." She scoffed. "He'll get over it. Everyone does eventually."

"It's that 'eventually' part that upsets me," Fury glowered. Obviously he'd been planning to utilize the Captain more before having to leave him out of commission as the situation currently stood. Moreover any further psych evaluation would have to be done through outside observation instead of direct interaction; a difficult task for any of their contractors, never mind that Schmidt was the best in that regard.

"Dismissed?"

"Dismissed."

Hawkeye was waiting for her on the side hall outside Fury's office. He'd been rechecking his projectiles when he saw her and hopped down from his seat in the alcove, falling into step next to her. Since the Captain was not on active duty, it was just then tracking down the remaining Striker cells in the New York area.

She waited, expecting him to have something to say to her. She'd seen his disapproval when she'd returned with the Captain's file. He knew what she'd done, and he'd had something to say then. Apparently he'd shared Fury's idea that they hadn't needed to drop it on them right then.

This time he was oddly quiet. She glanced over at him, and sensing her he looked back. That look said everything between them. He wasn't going to say anything. She'd heard it all from Fury anyway; even if she still didn't think she'd done anything wrong, he wasn't going to say anything more. She smiled slightly. In a way he was supporting her like this, he didn't have to say it would be alright; she knew it would be. She could appreciate that.

xxXXxxXXxx

It had been days by now. Rachel knew the longer she left things, the worse they would be. It was harder to be on the receiving end as well this time. Usually dealing with someone's pain meant sympathizing, showing empathy but not directly feeling the acute hurt left by betrayal.

This was her fault. She had to fix it. She never expected it to hurt this much. It was cowardly, but she'd left things too long already. She wasn't brave. Just like yesterday she was waiting for the elevator; timing it against the clock. If it took more than three minutes to get here; she wasn't going to the basement. She was going home. She'd watch a funny movie, eat ice cream, and try to go to sleep without crying.

It was pathetic. He'd been avoiding her; she hadn't even had to change her schedule. Apparently he didn't go jogging in the morning anymore. Melanie, at the canteen, had actually asked her if he'd gotten sick or something. Apparently he'd made it a point to talk with her and some of the other staff on a regular basis. He really was kind; he hadn't done that because she'd asked, that was something he'd done on his own. Branching out, but also just keeping aware and considerate of everyone.

Considerate. So he confined himself to the basement boxing ring again; avoiding others, and the few times he'd been spotted the words 'morose' and occasionally 'dangerous' had come to mind. She'd seen the taped though. Leave it to Fury to have cameras everywhere including the basement. Steve... the Captain was more in danger of hurting himself than anyone else.

She wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault; all the blame was on her. He needed to stop beating himself up over this, there were other women… she didn't want to think about that. She couldn't effectively say anything to comfort anyone; not even herself. She couldn't give any advice he'd listen to.

Effectively, she'd managed to talk herself out of even attempting to meet him for the entire time since then. It had cut her, when she'd seen him like that; she'd wanted to explain.

Is it true?

… yes.

There wasn't any other answer she could give him. It was the truth, and he'd turned from her. Maybe she should have gone after him; or maybe it would have made things worse. But the 'cooling off' period hadn't helped. It had been long enough.

They needed to talk. She didn't want to talk. She wanted to go hide under a rock and stay there until she'd forgotten everything about this. At the same time she didn't want to forget him. She wanted to remember the blue of his eyes, the easy way he'd smiled at her once, and all the times he'd said her name; she'd hardly ever thought about it at the time, but she really liked it when he said it.

Just a few more seconds and cowardice would win out. The elevator hadn't arrived yet. A few more seconds and she would try to ignore this again until tomorrow. The doors made a dinging sound as they opened. Two minutes and fifty seconds.

She could always round up?

Sighing she stepped inside and looked at the panel. Cowardice nearly won out; she pressed the floor for the basement. There was always the smallest chance she wouldn't find him there. She tried to think about what she needed to say. She'd probably have to convince him to hear her out first, and then… then she didn't know.

Tell him to stop punishing himself, when this was her fault? That she really was glad that he'd managed to get out of his shell for a while there, and he needed to get back into that to get over her too? No, an apology should probably come first. Then… an explanation?

There was a delay on the middle floors, some people got on the elevator, and got off at the ground floor. Rachel stayed on alone as the elevator descended to the basement. Her stomach clenched uncomfortably. She felt sweaty and anxious. Maybe she could delay this another day; until she felt more comfortable being here.

She'd never feel comfortable with this. She just had to do it.

The elevator doors opened and her breath caught. He was already standing there. Apparently he'd been ready to get on the elevator to head upstairs; heading home too. He looked momentarily shocked before his expression shuttered. She wasn't prepared to face him this soon.

She swallowed around the lump that inexplicably rose up her throat, but before she could even open her mouth, he'd turned and started walking away. "Um…" she stepped out of the elevator after him, confused. He headed toward the shower room. She stopped short, confused.

After a moment or two she heard one of the shower heads pop on. She had no idea what to make of this. Had he forgotten to shower?

That was impossible; the clean smell of soap had been coming off him in waves just a moment ago. She heard one of the back doors to the stairwell open and swing shut. She ran around the hallway to the door, opening it and looking up. She could hear thundering footsteps disappearing out of the lobby door upstairs.

He ran. He had tucked his tail and ran. With a sharp bark of deprecating laughter she turned back, letting the door swing shut. Marching into the shower room confirmed an empty stall he'd switched on to distract her from the sound as he ran out the back. She switched the faucet off and grit her teeth together.

Apparently she wasn't the only one dreading this meeting. She wanted to laugh at it. It was so silly that he'd run away from her. She should laugh; but she felt a little too much like crying. If it had been her, she'd have been running too. It hurt. She should have expected it, but the sharp twisting sting was a little too acute and vivid for her to dismiss as a normal reaction.

They still needed to talk. She deserved a little pain after what she did to him. She wasn't going to let him get away. She headed back to the elevator and took out her cell phone, dialing Maria Hill. The woman picked up after six rings, "I need Steve's address."

Rachel was absurdly proud at how level and even her request sounded, and how her voice managed not to crack on his name. "Why? Are you stalking him now?" Maria sounded vaguely amused for some reason.

"What?" she asked baffled, "No. I need to talk to him. Do you have it on hand or not?"

"Never mind," Maria sighed, as though her superior wit were wasted on those people of such little understanding; "I'll send it to you."

"Thanks." Rachel received the message shortly, and she hailed a cab. One way or another they had to move forward; and this was the first step. They needed to talk; even if she had to resort to slipping tiny notes under his door to make sure he got them.

xxXXxxXXxx

He felt increasingly absurd. Running away wasn't something he did very often. He knew there were probably much better ways to have handled that. But he hadn't been expecting her. He hadn't expected the sight of her to make everything fall away in a crumbling roar of painful shapes and shadows.

The smell of exhaust and the sounds of various cars and vehicles and street vendors shouting up and down the busy New York street went completely ignored. It was like tunnel vision. Just the thought of her had blotted out the color and spectacle of the worlds around him.

It was ridiculous, and he reprimanded himself for every too-hurried step he took, fleeing that place. He'd been half expecting her to show up for days now. But when she finally did, all the pain he'd been forcing down and ignoring suddenly flared back to life, a slow burn and constricting squeeze that threatened to force the life out of him. It hurt, and the only reason it still hurt was that he still cared.

He shouldn't have run away. But she was too early; everything was still too raw and open, nothing had healed, nothing had changed. It hurt to see her. He didn't want to hear her voice or look at her face. Paradoxically as much as he didn't want to see her, he had; and when he did he ran.

It was so silly; he could have laughed if he wasn't so full of empty agony. That just confirmed it though. The director was probably right, now and months ago; apparently he did need a shrink. Running away like that, clearly he was out of his mind.

But even if he was losing his mind, or cracking, or breaking, whatever it was called; he'd get through this, just like he did everything else. He didn't need to talk about it. He didn't need help. He hadn't needed it before now and he wouldn't need it after.

Except she had helped.

It was an odd way to think about it in retrospect. She had clawed open his wounds, every day they had spoken almost she'd managed to twist her knife into his old bloody lesions. At the time he'd felt new pain regularly; but by the time they were done he didn't know what to make of it.

Eventually those wounds stopped bleeding. The void that losing his friend, his teammates, his entire world, had left had slowly been filled. The pain of that loss had healed.

She had helped with that. But it seemed he'd exchanged those old wounds for fresh ones; so what a wonderful job they had done with that.

Perhaps the strangest part was that he wasn't angry. Not really. It was a betrayal, he knew that; and he felt the pain of it. He might have been able to get over it easier, and just let the anger take its course; but then at that time she'd looked just as distressed as him.

He shouldn't have run away. His steps slowed as he reached his apartment building. The world was coming back in bits and pieces now, the red brick of the building, the off-white linoleum floor and white-wash walls, and the teenage clerk the owner hired at the desk, flipping through a magazine.

He pressed the button for the elevator. He could hear someone honking on the streets outside, the usual bustle of the busy city. He knew he shouldn't have run, because he actually wanted to know what she had to say; if anything. He'd only really gotten a glimpse of her when he saw her in the basement. He tried to remember, she'd looked a bit paler than usual. There were shadows under her eyes, just a little, like she'd had difficulty sleeping lately. He couldn't remember her expression, she'd been surprised right?

He wanted to see her. But he knew it would hurt, and as much as he thought he wanted to hear what she had to say, he was afraid of that too. If the truth of the matter was that everything between them was really nothing then he knew he'd rather pretend that there wasn't anything left to say. He could live with being uncertain.

The front doors to the complex opened again and the humming swell of the cars and pedestrians outside grew louder before the doors swung shut. He was still thinking.

"Steve!"

He glanced up sharply, already knowing that voice. It was her. He wasn't prepared for this. She looked troubled and anxious; a mirror of his own face probably. She took a few steps toward him before he turned. Guess he was taking the stairs again.

His legs were longer than hers, and he heard her break into a run behind him. But he was already in the stairwell. He took the steps at a light jog, and could hear her falling behind, "No fair using super speed!" she called after him, her voice and the breathless disquiet of it echoed off the walls.

It didn't matter if it wasn't fair. He didn't want to deal with this right now. He couldn't. It was impossible. It made his skin hot and crawling when she approached too close, and he knew it was that apprehension about what she had to say. He didn't want to hear it; not yet anyway, and maybe never.

He reached his floor and bolted across the hall to his apartment. His home; the only place that was safe anymore. The door fell shut behind him and there was blissful quiet and emptiness. At least it was for a few moments.

Unfortunately she hadn't given up when he lost her in the stairwell. She probably cheated and used the elevator. There was a knock on his door.

xxXXxxXXxx

"Steve?" Rachel knocked on the door again, "I know you're in there. Please, I just want to talk to you."

She hated the desperate sound in her voice and tried to choke it out. For some reason the fact that he was avoiding her helped embolden her. She probably didn't deserve forgiveness but she needed to apologize and she needed to explain. She wanted to be forgiven, and it was wishful thinking as this point but she wanted to start over and try again.

"We don't have anything to talk about, do we?" his voice came through the door, finally answering her persistent banging. She hated the calm dismissive tone in his voice, even filtered through the wood. She also knew it was wrong, since if he really didn't care at all he wouldn't have bothered avoiding her.

"We have plenty in actuality," she disagreed, still relieved he responded. "I owe you an apology and an explanation at the very least."

"I have just one question: was any of it real or was it all lies?"

Rachel choked a little on the answer. "It wasn't all lies," she told him honestly, and though she couldn't pinpoint exactly when her feelings had changed or when she stopped seeing him as just a case subject she knew it was true; she knew her own feelings if she knew nothing else. "Not for a long time; and not for me."

She waited, half-wondering if she could profess something about undying love that wouldn't sound completely fake and ridiculous. But her face burned. There was the door between and when she considered it, probably everyone on the hall could hear all this.

"I wish I could believe you, but you've lied to me already."

His last hit her like a shard of ice, chilling blood and bone. There was that. If she lied once, why wouldn't she lie again? Couldn't he just look her in the eye and know?! It wouldn't be that easy, it never was; trust was like that.

"I'm sorry," these were the only words she had left, "I'm going to do whatever it takes…"

He never opened the door.

She knew he wouldn't, and if everything she said was lies then she had to prove herself with her actions instead. For now there was nothing more she could say. She stepped away from the door and finally left. But Rachel resolved to do whatever it took, for however long it would take, to earn back his trust.

xxXXxxXXxx

The Striker bases had finally managed their regroup. The serum was complete and more importantly they had retrieved a blood sample from the juggernaut monster that was SHIELD's Captain America. Michael Cowyn was meeting with the remaining supervisors and commanders in a short while to report on this progress.

For now he considered the limitations with the doctor responsible. It was just a small vial of simple green liquid but the serum and the blood would pave the way to Striker's victory.

"Is it enough?" he asked.

The doctor made a half-shrugging motion, "Would have been better if we had more blood," he reported, "The serum's effects are temporary and will only cause a brief period of weakness in the superhuman whose blood it's attuned to. But it should be enough to bring down the super-soldier."

Michael's eyes narrowed, thoughtful as he considered the vial. "And to kill him?"

"That's entirely at your discretion," the doctor informed him coolly, "The serum will weaken him, and at that point a regular gunshot to the head would probably do the trick."

He smiled, that was all he needed to know. The only problem of course was the small sample of blood and thus the small sample of serum that could successfully attack the man-made monster. But it was enough. It would have to be.

In only a few hours Striker would finally be able to counter-attack SHIELD. With any luck they would easily destroy any adversary set against them. They had only been waiting for this day. In hours Striker would seize upon its ultimate victory.

ooOOooOOoo

Author notes:

Dun-dun-dun! Anyway I don't know if I dropped enough hints earlier in the story but the serum was talked about at a couple different points whenever Striker was mentioned, so hopefully no-one's going to think 'what, but that's so out of the blue!'

I hope it was a fun read regardless! And oh the angst! Not to worry I can never dwell on that shmoop too long, and it'll be back to our regularly scheduled fluff with a small side of almost-action salad.

Please review.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America, the Avengers, or any derivative thereof. I make no monetary gain from this; its creation is solely for entertainment. If others find enjoyment in it as well then my own reward is that: "Perhaps I made someone smile today."

This story is dedicated to Sora Starkiller/Xgirl-49. Happy belated-and-overly-long-and-finally-ending birthday!

Also, to all my readers; I hope you have a Happy Holiday & a very joy filled New Year!

Summary: Slight-AU. Steve Rogers is, understandably, a bit depressed after he was just woken up after being frozen in ice only to find it's been years and everyone he knew and loved is gone. Fury figures he should do something, but Steve won't see a shrink; so psychologist Rachel will have to perform her assessment on the down-low! Oh the hijinks! Also domestic hostile groups & kidnapping!

Smile in Sorrow

By Karin Daath

Chapter 10

It would have otherwise been a perfectly peaceful morning. Except that SHIELD was under attack. Steve wasn't actually aware of this until a cannon was fired somewhere on the first floor. The aftershocks somehow reached his small section of basement alerting him that something wasn't quite right topside.

After all it wasn't normal for the foundation near the walls and ceiling to suddenly crack a line down to the floor and the concrete silt to shift and cloud dust into the air.

It was still early morning, and he took the stairs to the ground floor. The alarm hadn't sounded yet. But people were already panicking, and fleeing the building where they could. But there were unmarked soldiers flooding in. Most people, civilian workers and contractors, were fleeing further into the building. They were trying to escape and run away from the steady clattering of automatic gunfire.

Someone got ahold of the alarm and the lights and sounds thundered as the blare of the alarm set up a cacophonous roar. One of the attacking cells must have made to the alarm center. The sound of it was cut in minutes. Again there was only screaming, gunfire and the scuff and thudding of hurried feet.

Steve made for the nearest team of unmarked fighters. They were trained fighters, but his strength allowed him to overpower them. In the close quarters of narrow hallways and a few feet from each of them, they couldn't set off their guns in time. One unit down. He ran to the next one, following the sound of guns and screaming.

There was no time to search the men, to look for identification. It didn't matter who they were; only that they were hurting innocents. They had to be stopped.

He had only made it to the second unit of unmarked gunmen, neutralizing the threat when the unknown assailant converged on his location. Apparently the other attacking groups were aware of his movement and in moments he was hemmed in from the sides.

"We meet again… Captain America."

The way the man said that title dripped with disgust and hostile disdain. Steve turned to face the man, the apparent leader of this attack. He recognized the severe features of the brown haired man, he even remembered the revolted scowl as it stared at the super-soldier like an ant that needed to be crushed. "Striker."

So they were behind this attack. He thought SHIELD had been methodically weakening them, but apparently they'd been planning this attack for some time. It had already progressed far enough; it ended here.

But he'd been distracted. The strike came from behind, and he saw it coming. He turned to counter the men behind him. They had moved in close enough to strike, but he managed to turn and block the blow aimed at his head. There was a crack as the soldier was struck, he cried out and slumped. He was still breathing. Another strike from behind; the only problem with narrow hallways.

Steve turned quickly snatching at the needle that had punctured his neck. It was a small vial, empty now, and he glared back at the Striker leader, whose scowl had morphed into a condescending smirk of satisfaction. "It's over." The man told him; and Steve grit his teeth, ready to argue back.

But then the hall seemed to spin around him. He staggered forward confused, nearly falling over, as if every bit of strength had suddenly begun to drain out of him. The man was laughing now, and the room spun once more as the Striker soldiers moved in.

"Sir, we've secured the computer room down the hall!"

"We have taken nearly 60% of the facility!"

The man was scowling again, and Steve strained to hear the rest of what was said. "What's the hold-up?"

Steve hit the ground, still trying to stay upright. His vision swam and he blinked trying to clear it. It didn't help, and there were hands on him now, roughly pulling, lifting, moving him somewhere. Where?!

"It seems that agents Widow and Hawkeye are still in the building."

"We should have this whole facility under lockdown by now." The leader was shaking his head, exasperated.

"We nearly do, sir."

"Fine," he turned back toward Steve with a sneer, "Put 'that' in the storage room, cuff him and leave him."

"Why?"

Steve's demand came out a little slurred unfortunately, his strength was so faded he couldn't fight off the hands pulling and dragging him back and away; someplace cold and dark. The man only sneered again, severe features neatly pulling into a smirk. They should have killed him, now. Why so confident?

"Why not?" the man scoffed, "You'll all be dead in less than thirty minutes."

The way he said it sent an ominous chill crawling over Steve's skin. Whatever the plan was for this attack, it was meant to be short, fast, and quick; and they weren't planning on leaving any survivors. Something horrible was in store.

Then the man was turning, talking with the others, heading off to deal with Widow and Hawkeye. And Steve was dragged backward into the chill and dark of the storage room. He hit the floor with a dull thud and his vision swam again, his body still feeling limp and sluggish and wrong.

Concrete doors swung shut again with a loud creaking and were sealed shut. He was alone, and it was dark, and he couldn't force himself to move. He had to do something, he had to; and he had no strength and no way out. They only had thirty minutes, if that. He couldn't move.

xxXXxxXXxx

Rachel had overslept that morning. She usually didn't. Most days she came early to get extra work done. Lately she'd been slacking off on that count only coming in at half past eight, or nine at the latest. She was a bit later than that this morning though.

She'd stayed up too late last night; she'd been thinking of what she could do to improve the current situation, unfortunately she hadn't drawn much more than a blank card and a headache that seemed to persist all during her walk to work.

As she got closer to the SHIELD headquarters building she realized that something was terribly wrong. There were police, SWAT, and SHIELD vehicles with their lights on, outside the building. There were gunshots in the windows of the front and surrounding alcove. She spotted director Fury accompanied by Maria speaking into come kind of communication; and as she got closer she could hear they were trying to communicate with someone inside.

Another group of agents was heading around to a side doorway to attempt infiltration to retrieve people caught inside the building. There was an ambulance pulled up that was seeing to some of the people who apparently had managed to escape the building.

What was it? An attack?

"What's going on here?" she asked as she got closer. There was one agent gripping his radio communications, but not speaking, just waiting and looking nervous. Apparently he recognized her though.

"Doctor," he looked back at the building, still anxious, "We think it's Striker. They attacked earlier this morning, not long ago actually. We're still trying to gain control of the situation inside."

"Have they issues demands or something? Do they have hostages?" she asked, worried; wondering if they had if there was any way she could offer her expertise as part of negotiation.

"No, nothing like that," the man said, shaking his head, "They've been refusing to communicate." He glanced over at Fury and Maria and then back at the building, "The director is more concerned that agents Romanov, Barton, and Rogers were inside the building when it happened. No one's heard from any of them since then. We've lost contact."

Rogers? Steve was in there? Right now? Rachel's mind went blank for a moment, her breath caught. Why Steve? He'd been their target last time too. Somehow she had the sinking awful feeling that something wasn't right; even more so than before.

She wasn't thinking when she left the front and the cars and the line of agents and officers. She walked to one of the rear entries. An old little-used door sometimes used for smoking breaks for the guys working out of the security and surveillance offices on the ground level. She still had a card that allowed her level four security access. She should be able to enter from here.

Rachel drew out the card and passed it over the reader. The light flicked to green and she heard the soft click as the lock on the door disengaged. She drew it open and stepped inside. The halls were darker than usual, some of the lights had been damaged in whatever fighting took place. There was a body on the floor, a bloody gunshot wound in the back. He'd been running for the door when he'd been gunned down.

She could hear gunfire, though it was farther away, and there was shouting and the sound of feet running and scuffing on the floors. It sounded too close, and her skin prickled with fear. Still, she knew these halls echoed. She took a tentative step forward and cringed as her shoes clicked lightly against the floor sending up echoes of their own. She stopped short, waiting. Nothing happened; the shouting and scuffling hadn't changed.

Breathing, relieved, she reached down and removed her shoes, her thin socks letting her pad across the hall soundless. She left her shoes near the entry and hurried further in. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she did know these halls better than the intruders probably.

Rachel stopped short when she checked for the camera around the next corner. It hung from the wall, sparking and spitting; someone had shot it out of its perch. It was useless even if they had someone in the camera control center.

She wasn't a ninja, and she certainly wasn't trained in any way as far as sneaking into places. But at one point Rachel Schmidt had been a child and then a teenager and sneaking just came naturally to people who had need of it at one time or another. It seemed many of the camera feeds had been shot out on this hallway when there was forced entry. Unless one of the men in the halls saw her, she should be in the clear.

She tried to ignore the smell of blood and flesh as much as the sight of bodies strewn about the halls. If she looked too closely, it was likely she knew some of them and she couldn't think about that now. Steve was in here somewhere, and something told her, strongly and viciously, that he needed help. Ahead she heard the footsteps picking up, there was a group of them, the murmur of their voices getting closer - closer!

Rachel fell at the nearest pile of bodies. She didn't look at the corpse of the man whose arm and torso she tugged up to cover her. She laid flat and limp, motionless as the men rounded the corner, checking with guns pointed for any stragglers. Blood was soaking her pale blue blouse but that wasn't nearly as important as staying still, still enough she was barely breathing. Praying they didn't notice that one of the bodies still lived.

"So what happened to the monster?"

"The so-called super-soldier? Yeah, he was on the ground floor when we first got in. The commander neutralized him."

Neutralized?!

"That new stuff the doc was working on?"

"Yeah that."

No. No, it wasn't true. He couldn't be dead. That wasn't possible. She refused to believe it.

"Stuck him up in the supply closet right?"

"Right, and with the stuff he was shot up with, he won't be moving for a while!"

Untold relief. Their heavy boots padded on, down the hall, more shouting as they met up with another unit, patrolling through the hallways. Rachel waited until their voices and steps faded. Supply closet. That could be anywhere. Although if he was still on the ground floor there were only two main closets that could easily fit a person inside them.

One was nearer to the lobby and was in the direction the Striker agents had just been headed. She couldn't risk that way just yet. But there was another one further down this hall off an adjacent connecting corridor. That second closet was nearer the stairwell for the basement. Rachel made an educated guess on that one.

Once she was sure the hall was vacant she crept to her feet. She padded softly down toward the connecting breezeway and corridor. She had to find him. They did something to him, something to do with drugs or who-knew-what; something that could 'neutralize' even the super-soldier. Rachel hurried on, but had to double back and look around a side passage when more invading Striker agents were heard on the path directly ahead.

Fortunately she stopped short as she realized she was heading into an area full of gattling gun fire. She hadn't seen anyone carrying gattling guns?! Peering around the closest corner she realized that Striker must have taken control of the surveillance control center! The guns that had been affixed to the walls in the various corridors were being used to take down any personnel entering through the front.

This was bad. She knew outside they were trying to send groups in to recapture the ground floor. Striker was finally running short on people, but as long as they still held the surveillance center, Striker could continue to do serious damage to anyone inside the building. She supposed she was actually very lucky that the entry she chose happened to have almost all the cameras shot out already. Otherwise she might have been shot the moment she entered the building.

Eventually she managed to take a slow pathway to the supply closet. With trepidation she reached for the metal handles, and after checking the hall, the noise let her know any of the invading Striker agents were not terribly close; for the moment. She didn't know what she'd do if he wasn't here, how she'd make it to the supply closet at the entry. Or if she could even trust that kind of information discussed by two gunmen in passing. Rachel took a deep breath and hauled the metal doors open.

xxXXxxXXxx

He wondered if he was dying. It was like every ounce of strength he'd had was sapped away by that needle and green liquid now spiraling in his veins. Striker was going after Natasha and Clint. If this 'serum' only worked on super-humans then at least they should be safe from this crippling pain. SHIELD was in danger, something still bothered him about what their leader had said; how easily he dismissed not killing the super-soldier outright.

Despite all these worries, oddly they weren't at the forefront of his mind. It wasn't his life he thought back on, not Peggy or Howard or even Bucky; goodness knew his life was full of regrets, of chances only half-taken and never really followed through. In spite of all this there was really only one event that stood out in his mind.

At the time he'd only been staring at the dark cool wood of his apartment door, but it had been her voice and her face all too clearly supplied by imagination that had been reaching out to him. The hurt was still there. Throbbing and raw, but he kept thinking back to it. The one thing he wished he'd changed; opened that door, looked her in the eye. If she wanted to reconcile, he should have given her the chance. He wanted it too, maybe even more than she wanted it.

But he hadn't. He hesitated and in the end he didn't bother, he'd been too afraid, and he probably hadn't thought about the fact he might have finite time to decide things. He hadn't considered that with Peggy either, at least they'd had time to share a few last words.

Rachel Schmidt, everything he thought he knew about her had been thrown into question. But there were also things he knew regardless of what she said or did. He knew her favorite color, flavor of coffee, out-of-office working spaces, and he knew that she'd been right about every suggestion she'd ever made to him about moving forward. He also knew she'd been the first to reach out to try and fix things; and he'd turned her away.

Blinking his eyes against the dim light from under the supply room door, he realized his vision was slowly clearing. He tested the cuffs around his hands. The metal bit into his wrists without any give, he felt the skin bruise for his efforts and sighed, frustrated. His breathing was getting better but it seemed it was taking longer for his super strength to come back. He still couldn't quite regain his feet for the moment.

So he still had no way to escape from here. He had no way to fix things with Rachel, maybe he never would. Then the door creaked, as it was pulled roughly on it's hinges. Steve turned and squinted toward the light as it flooded into the dark space. It was impossible... Striker had attacked SHIELD, but there she was framed in light, Rachel.

"Steve!" The relief on her face was infectious as the light feeling swelled in him as well. She rushed forward flinging her arms around him. "I'm so glad you're okay!" she nearly sobbed, trying to keep her voice down; trying not to alert any gunmen still prowling the halls.

He tried to bring his arms up too and cried out as the metal refused to give. Startled, she pulled back, following his arm to the cuffs around both wrists. "What happened?" she asked, worried; and he realized there was blood all over her shirt.

"You're bleeding?!" he exclaimed, horrified.

"No, no, it's not mine!" she assured quickly, "But what did they do to you? They were saying something in the halls but...?"

"They shot me up with something," he told her, "I don't have my usual strength right now, probably not my speed or endurance either."

Frowning thoughtfully at the cuffs she told him to wait, saying something about a pair of keys in the office storage closet next door. She peered out into the hall before darting out quickly. He also realized then that she was barefoot, the usual soft clicking of her heels absent as she went. She wasn't a SHIELD agent, and she had no training; but she did have common sense.

He waited, trying to regain his feet and struggling as the numbness was only slowly receding from his limbs. After a minute or two, he managed, staggering and using the wall as partial support. The last of the muscular tremors that petrified him earlier slowly shaking off. Then Rachel was back.

"I found some keys," she said, going straight for the cuffs, a look of concern touching her features as she looked over the bruises he'd given himself trying to get free. The keys worked and the cuffs clattered to the floor in a muted clang. "Are you sure you're alright?" she asked again, noting his support on the wall. Tentatively he stepped away, using his leg muscles at least did seem to be shaking the momentary paralysis better than being stationary.

"I will be," he agreed, "Any idea how things look on the inside? I hadn't heard anything except that Widow and Hawkeye are still in here somewhere."

"I'm sorry I don't really know about the situation inside, neither does anyone outside, Fury has been trying to send men in but I'm not sure how successful they are. I just kept hearing gunfire." an involuntary shudder ran through her, "They've taken control of the surveillance center, so the weapons on the infrastructure are under their control right now."

Steve scowled, frowning at the floor thinking; he knew what kind of damage that could do if they had control of the cameras, wall guns, and electronic locking doors if they were still operational. "Mainly it's the operation of the gattling guns I've been hearing." Rachel offered, "It's also been preventing the outside from sending teams in to effectively evacuate any hostages or survivors."

"Then I need to do something about that first," he nodded, thinking aloud. From the surveillance center he'd also be able to find how to best help Widow and Hawkeye. These thoughts should have been at the forefront of his mind. He turned back to her, she looked worried, but there was a grim determined tension in her jaw.

" 'We'," she corrected, "We need to do something. The nearest stairwell I saw they detonated an area bomb, we'll need to use the one near the south exit to go up."

"No, not 'we', you're not a trained soldier, you're not even an agent." he reminded her. He wanted to ask what she was doing here. How she wasn't hurt and why there was blood on her clothes. Was it okay to pretend things were fine between them? Why was she here? She came directly to him, first it seemed. Why? Whose orders? Fury wouldn't have sent a civilian inside.

"I'm coming with you," she told him, no room for argument, something hard but worried and oddly fervent in her eyes. "Coast is clear for now, we should move quickly," she suggested after peering into the hall.

Since it was no use arguing with her, he took off his shoes, that squeaked on the floors, and padded silently after her. He knew he should take lead. Even if he had no super strength he could still serve as a meat shield. He knew the way ahead as well as she did, he took lead as soon as her overtook her on the next turn. She didn't fight him on it, a single questioning glance was her only reprimand.

Reaching the surveillance center wasn't difficult, but they had to double back to take the same path the Striker operatives took when they reached the second floor. On that path the cameras had been turned or disabled or otherwise they were able to sneak past. The motion sensors had been blown and though the gattling guns on the walls swiveled ever so often, they stuck to the walls out of site of the stationary video feeds. As they neared the surveillance center Steve held out an arm to warn Rachel back.

"Stay back and out of sight," He instructed, keeping his voice low; she nodded, "If you hear me go down you get out of here, okay?"

"No!" she hissed back, horrified.

"I mean it!" he whispered back just as vehemently, "You're not trained for combat, you need to get out." Even if he failed in everything after this, he needed to know that she would get out safely. That she would be safe.

A stubborn set to her jaw, frowning she eventually nodded and backed off.

Steve approached the surveillance center door. It sounded like three men inside. He had the element of surprise when he came in the door, neutralizing the closest of the three men before taking out the second. The third had just taken out his firearm, Steve was faster in close quarters, a quick practiced strike to the wrist.

The man dropped the gun and Steve aimed next for his neck and throat, a sharp choking sound let him know he'd hit his mark; the man couldn't cry out for help now either. The final strike to his skull and the man fell down, slumping from his seat to the floor of the control office. Rachel stepped inside before he could give the all-clear.

She didn't say much about the men that Steve dragged back out into the hall. One of the cameras showed a final run team of SHIELD agents coming in through a side entry to the front lobby. This time there was no gattling gun to prevent their entry.

Apparently Striker did have hostages on the second floor a few sections over. Widow and Hawkeye were in another section fighting off a group of Striker agents. They were doing alright, Widow looked like she'd cut her arm on something, but it may have been a result of the initial 'surprise' assault. But there was another Striker group inbound for their location too.

Steve knew his next step of action should be to see to the hostage situation and help Widow and Hawkeye. Instead he turned to the woman next to him a dozen questions bubbling up and just waiting to be asked. Rachel took up the discarded comm-link and turned the video feed to chart a path through the second floor to the hostage group and then to Widow and Hawkeye's location.

"There's only two guys guarding the hostages, one has a knife and the other a gun," she reported from the feeds, "If you hurry you could make it to help the other two before the other group intercepts them."

He knew he should be thinking about the situation, the Striker agents, the hostages, so why was he so busy trying to figure out why she was here? Why she came after him and wanting to ask if she still...?

Why are you here? Why did you come after me?

Rachel looked back at him, waiting for a response. She still looked worried, she was worried when he saw her earlier too, when she first came in and her face split into a smile of complete relief. Blood soaked and smelling of fear, she had been relieved to find him.

"I'll get going then," he said heading for the door, "I'm going to barricade the door so if someone comes you'll be okay." She nodded and he shut the doors, dragging several chairs from a nearby office to brace against the door. Then he took off down the hall, at a run, tracing the path she'd made and heading for the hostages.

He didn't need to ask her. He knew her, and he already knew the answer.

He found the hostages and took down the gunman first. The other Striker operative went for a hostage to use directly. Steve shot it out of his hand. The scream died in his throat when the weakened super-soldier took him down. Super strength or not he had been trained for the army and trained further since he'd arrived at SHIELD.

The SHIELD team that had been successfully sent in arrived at the hostages next and Steve took off for Widow and Hawkeye before they got additional attackers. He had to pause partway there, which was a bit of an oddity. It had been a long time since he actually felt out of breath. Still he pushed on. It had been a long time since his endurance had only lasted so long in high stress.

Even if his vision had cleared and he could now move more comfortably it was possible that the serum had taken away his abilities completed. He had no way of knowing unless his strength returned later. If it didn't, he'd just soldier forward like he always did. Regardless of his power or lack there-of 'giving up' was not part of who he was. Not now and not 70 years ago. He'd do everything he could do to protect the people he cared about.

He reached Widow and Hawkeye basically as they finished up the last of the guys they were currently dealing with. Then the next group reached them, Steve recognized their leader in the group. The same brown-haired man with severe features; the one who injected him with the drug, the one who had taken Rachel before.

The man looked surprised to see Steve there, but those eyes just narrowed, scowling and glaring them down. He spat something about 'monsters' and the Striker group attacked. Steve fell into combat alongside Widow and Hawkeye, trying to cover for them where fatigue was finally taking it's toll.

"What are you doing up here?!"

"Isn't it obvious?" Steve asked, responding to Widow's incredulous remark, "I'm helping!"

He heard her laugh, and for once it didn't sound deprecating. "At least you're done whining about the doctor, right?"

It was rhetorical. But he had a response; yes, he was done 'whining'. But there were still words that needed to be said.

The three of them moved in tandem to take down the last of the Striker operatives that had flooded in. Their leader struck out again, driving Steve back, protecting his men. They fell prey to Hawkeye instead. A block, a strike, a counter; the man's movements were sharp and jagged.

Steve braced his footing to keep from getting shoved back any farther. Widow attacked from behind. The man went down, cringing and holding back a cry from the pain; Steve didn't know how he held it in when he'd been struck in the spine like that. For some reason the man was smiling, looking up at somewhere past Steve's shoulder.

"What are you laughing at, clown?!" Widow scowled, kicking him again for good measure. Steve glanced back to see, there was a clock on the wall. He looked back at the man, confused. He was still smiling and shaking his head now.

"Your plan failed, you won't be taking SHIELD headquarters." Hawkeye informed him coolly. The man only laughed again.

"We were never planning to 'take' your building," the man told them, amused, and dark laughter still bubbling from his throat.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Widow asked glaring, confused as well as she glanced at the clock and back at the man. Steve thought about it, frowning. He thought about what the man had said when they'd taken him down and put him in the supply closet earlier... and suddenly it made sense.

"They've been planting bombs." The man's laughter stopped. He was right!

"What?!" Hawkeye looked up sharply.

"So this whole thing was what? A suicide mission?!" Widow demanded looking back at the Striker commander, a new kind of loathing expressed on her features.

"Even if you know, it's too late," the man told them. He'd stopped laughing, but oddly enough he was still smiling, a muscle near his cheek was working itself too, or maybe it was his tongue. "I estimate you have only... nine minutes by now."

"Where is it?!" Widow demanded, "If it's a timer do you have the deactivation switch?!"

The muscle stopped working and the man only grinned again as he bit down on a little oval pill in his mouth. Widow cursed and leapt forward trying to get her fingers in his mouth. It didn't work. Despite her efforts the man fell back, limp, eyes rolled up and frothy foam leaking from the corners of his mouth. She cursed again and stood up, running down the hall toward the hostage room.

"A SHIELD team made it in earlier," Steve told her as he and Hawkeye rushed after her, "The hostages should be evacuated or in process."

"Then I need to get outside and warn everyone to get out now!" Widow amended, Steve took off down a connecting corridor, she stopped short. "What are you doing?!"

"I gotta get Rachel!" He yelled back, "She's barricaded in the surveillance control center!"

xxXXxxXXxx

Rachel cried out in frustration. The door wouldn't budge, no matter how much she hammered at it.

She went back to the control panel for the infrastructure weapons. Unfortunately the one gun with a clear shot at the chairs piled in front of her doors was out of ammo already. She turned the one on an adjacent hallway trying to fire at the chairs from there. The bullet glanced. She tried again but it wouldn't hit to dislodge the barricade outside her door.

Her hands slammed down on the keyboard, frustration and no small amount of fear mounting by the second. She had nine minutes on her watch timer. She'd been able to listen via the video and sound feed for the camera in the section over where Steve, Natasha, and Clint had taken down what appeared to be the last of the active Striker groups in the building.

She heard their leader talking about the bombs, about their time limit. Now she was mentally calculating how long it would take running from the surveillance center on the second floor to the nearest building exit which would be a side door near the front lobby. Rachel really hated the odds. She knew it would take roughly three minutes even if she hurried.

But her watch timer was already telling her she had less than four minutes, and since there was no way of telling what time was on the bomb itself it could be less than four minutes! It crossed her mind more than once already that she could die. Oddly enough she still didn't regret coming in here, even if it was dangerous, even if she and Steve had ended up separated again... if he got out, if he made it and he was safe she thought maybe she'd be okay with it.

She didn't want to die. She went to pound on the door again. Even if she could wedge it open a little she could probably reach out and dislodge the chairs! She couldn't move it an inch.

She was going to die. She wished she could have seen him again. She finally saw him again and she hadn't managed to say anything she wanted to! There wasn't time! She wanted to say she was sorry, she wanted to tell him she-!

Suddenly she heard the vicious scraping of metal outside before the door was thrown open. "Steve!" Relief somehow lead to increased anxiety as he took her by the arm and they sprinted down the hall. It would take at least three minutes to get to the door. She didn't check her watch, they had to make it. They only had two minutes.

xxXXxxXXxx

"There's a bomb!"

"A bomb?!" Fury demanded as agents Widow and Hawkeye rushed out the front exit.

"There may be one or there may be several, we don't know the blast radius but they intended to destroy the building and everyone in it!" Widow reported, it seemed the last of the hostage rescue groups were exiting the building already, "Has everyone made it out safely?!"

"Everyone so far, except for the Cap, did you see him inside?" Fury questioned. "We did, he went to get Rachel," Hawkeye informed them, "He'd barricaded her in."

Fury blinked, flabbergasted, "Rachel? The doc? She was in there-?!" he cut himself off, thinking, and turned to Maria for answers.

"I saw her join the crowd, I had no idea she'd slipped away inside," Maria reported, "I thought we'd tried all available exits when we were trying to send people in."

"So she heard about the Cap and went in to a war zone?" Fury was sometimes under the impression he worked with complete idiots. "Well where are they?! They should be on their way out now, right?!"

They all turned to look at the building. They couldn't send anyone else in, not with the bomb. But so far, no one else was coming out. Nothing was happening at all.

"Well?!" Fury demanded.

Widow nearly rolled her eyes. "They're not out yet."

"I can see that!" Fury sniped back at her, irritated.

Then there was an explosion somewhere inside.

The concrete cracked and the windows on every floor burst from inside. Everyone at the cordon line pushed it back further as debris began falling from the building, a billow of fire pouring out the doors and windows. Inside, the lobby area was on fire, and the cracks in the concrete spread. At least the building hadn't actually collapsed; the one upside of home-made explosives when the fuel charge isn't large enough.

Still that was a lot of bombs.

Fury schooled his features and glared back at the wreckage of SHIELD headquarters in New York. At least now maybe he could convince the budget to include new headquarters construction for SHIELD in Washington DC.

"So?" Fury questioned again, "What happened here, guys?!"

Widow glared at the exploded building. "Just wait." They couldn't be dead. She wasn't that lucky.

"Wait?! We've been waiting!" Fury reminded her, loudly, "Now the building's blown up!"

"They're not dead, just wait," Widow told him coolly. She was almost psychic about these sort of things. It's why when she killed people she tended to shoot them north of ten times at least.

It was the sound of coughing that gave them away. As the smoke cleared around one of the south side entries, they could see them. Steve was walking out from the rubble, and he was carrying Rachel in his arms.

"And the soap opera continues," the redhead sighed, equal parts relieved and annoyed.

"What?" Fury asked confused.

"Nothing." Widow amended quickly.

The paramedics came forward first, apparently Rachel was unconscious, Steve had a few cuts and bruises but nothing serious. It seemed that his super-human abilities had returned as well as he was able to shrug off any of the visible fatigue Widow had seen in him earlier.

Hawkeye joined them shortly. The paramedics deduced that the doctor was merely unconscious, initial tests showed she hadn't suffered any kind of trauma or damage to physically make her pass out.

"So what, she fainted?" Widow asked, curious.

"Yeah," Steve agreed, "Apparently she heard when the Striker guy told us we had nine minutes. She fainted when the timer hit zero."

"It hit zero?" Hawkeye asked, it had seemed pretty close to the nine minute mark when the building blew.

"Apparently we had just a few seconds more than the timer was set at," Steve shrugged, smiling almost sheepish, "That was also when my speed kicked back in."

"Oh," Hawkeye nodded, "Lucky you."

Steve seemed to smile in agreement. He still hadn't let go of Rachel, and more importantly the medics didn't know when she might wake up. Depending on the person and the faiting spell, it could be a while.

"Oh please," Widow pushed through to the doctor.

"What?" Steve asked, nearly cautious as he considered the irritated expression on the red-haired woman's face.

"I know an age-old method to cure a fainting spell," she informed him.

"Ok, thanks?" Steve said, backing off enough to let Widow see the doctor. Then before anyone could do anything, Widow drew back her hand and struck hard, smacking Rachel's cheek with a loud slap.

"OW!" Rachel shot up, her hand flying to her cheek now turning bright pink from the strike.

"What was that for?!" Steve demanded, horrified!

"She's awake, isn't she?" Widow said turning to walk away. Now that both of the lovebirds were awake she had no desire to see the sequel.

xxXXxxXXxx

It took Rachel a moment to regain her bearings.

One moment the bomb was set to detonate, she and Steve were still inside and running for the exit, the timer hit zero! Then... she was still breathing. The SHIELD building was in flames, but they were outside, Steve was alive, he was here, and she was in his arms.

Suddenly her face felt hot, and it had nothing to do with the slap Widow had just given her. Nervously he smiled and his hands slid away. He moved to get up and move away, it looked like cleanup for the explosion was already underway. She reached out to snag his arm, tugging him back down. She wasn't strong enough to keep him here, but he didn't fight her either.

She wasn't thinking as she hauled herself forward, her arms winding around him, tugging him close to her. He felt warm and solid, he was breathing, she was breathing; they were both alive. They made it.

"I'm so glad you're okay." Slowly she felt him hug her back.

"I'm glad you're alright too." he said. And after a moment she felt the pat-pat that meant it was time to let go. She didn't want to, but he was asking so she had to. He was trying to move away again, still she held on again.

"Before you disappear on me again," she said, forcing the words out; it was now or never, she had to say them, while she could still look him in the eye. While he still couldn't go hide behind a door somewhere. "I love you."

He didn't move, not to pull away or to sit back down; it was like he was frozen. Her face felt hot again and she soldiered on, well aware she was completely embarrassing herself at this point.

"I finally have that answer to you from earlier," she meant days earlier, but he knew that, "Even if you've changed your mind already. I want you to know. I love you." she repeated it, firmer this time, and she was able to look in his eyes when she said it. She almost felt like crying and hoped it didn't show.

"I want you to know, my job was the last thing I was thinking about when I went in after you." she insisted, willing him to understand her. Even if he didn't accept her, couldn't accept her, he had to know she meant it.

Then his gaze softened and he came back to her, taking her hands in his. "I know," he said, his gaze searching, and he must have found what he was looking for because he smiled, "And I haven't changed my mind."

He meant it. He meant he-!

Rachel threw her arms around him, her body colliding again with his. His arms encircled her, and lips sought lips as they met in fervent urgency, seeking to confirm what words had said and hearts had sealed.

They had met when he had been at his lowest. They had gone through smiles and sorrows together. The only way to weather it was to smile together, and smile in sorrow.

ooOOooOOoo

THE END

Please review.

Author notes:

So about that ending there… it was supposed to end on some shmarmy ending like that might be considered "deep" if you squint and cock your head sideways. I'm not sure it worked, at all. Also... as much as I love Widow, I can't seem to resist making her a bit of a jerk. I honestly do really like her, it's just yea... XD But this was a lot of fun and I hope other people had fun too!

Much love to all my readers! I hope you enjoyed!


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